Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 14: A Cage of His Own Making

At long last, an update from me.  *ducks*  Thanks to the Season of Writing Dangerously for prompting me to do something about this unfinished tale. 

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“Let us…let us go back to my room,” Maedhros announced at last.  He did not think it was good for any of them to be alone right now, and he at least knew the way.  Celegorm let him take him by the elbow again to lead him.

 The others nodded and followed him listlessly.  The Maiar had left, taking their torches with them, but even before that, the room had seemed dim and empty.  Their mother had been reborn, but now they were alone…it was like attending her funeral. 

 

He could not give into despondancy.  There was no time for blank despair when he had brothers relying on him.  He would stay strong for them.  When they reached his room, he opened the door and allowed Caranthir and the twins to enter, then brought in Celegorm. 

 

“Brother, what is this?” Amrod asked, picking something up off the floor. 

 

Maedhros could not see what it was, but he knew that he had only the pillow in his room.  “I do not know,” he said, moving to look at whatever Amrod was holding. 

 

In his brother’s hand were three necklaces, pendants of carved stone each strung on a thin cord of leather.  There were three…Maedhros closed his eyes.  “I think,” he said quietly, “they are a parting gift from Mother.”

 

Amras looked at him, puzzled.  “But, there are five of us here.  Six, if you count Curufin.  Why are there only three?”

 

“They are for you and Caranthir,” Maedhros said.  “Celegorm has already received his gift from her.”

 

The twins exchanged a look, and then let Caranthir choose first.  “Thank you,” he said to them, and included Maedhros in his glance. 

 

Maedhros looked away from them.  Why had she left gifts for his brothers in his room?  He looked at Celegorm, and saw that he was staring intently at the pool of water.  He blinked.  Celegorm was staring?

 

Maedhros hesitated.  “What do you think of my water, Celegorm?”

 

“It reminds me of the Two Trees,” he said quietly, not turning away. 

 

“You can…see it?”

 

Celegorm shook his head.  “No.  It just…feels that way.”

 

Maedhros wrapped his arms around himself, and sat down. He was mostly quiet, listening to his brothers speak about their mother, both during their time here and when they were children in Valinor.  He…couldn’t bring himself to speak of her yet.  Finally, the twins sensed his mood, and offered to leave.

 

“We’ll…go visit Curufin.  See how he is doing.  Do you want to…?” Amrod did not finish his question, but Maedhros shook his head. 

 

“No, not now.”

 

Caranthir looked between Celegorm and Maedhros, and decided to follow the twins. 

 

“Are you not going?” Maedhros asked.

 

Celegorm shook his head.  “No.  I will remain here.”

 

Maedhros was thankful his brother could not see him.  He wrapped his grief more tightly about himself, and fell silent again.  Celegorm did not complain, and did not make any move to leave.  He was fascinated by the water, and lost in his own thoughts. 

 

“Look after your Father for me.”

 

His Mother’s last words to him echoed over and over again in his mind.  His brothers could fend for themselves; surely his Father did not need looking after?  But…maybe she knew something he did not.  If only…

 

He stood suddenly, and Celegorm looked up at him with blank eyes.  “I am going out,” Maedhros announced.  “I will not be back for a long time.  If you need a guide back to your room, just call for…”

 

But Celegorm shook his head.  “I will stay here until you return.”

 

“You do not have to…”

 

“I want to.”

 

“Stubborn.”  But part of a smile crossed his face, and made its way into his gutted voice.  Maedhros barely caught the answering smile on Celegorm’s face; it was gone before it began. 

 

Maedhros closed the door on Celegorm, and then considered his options.  It was too soon to return to the Sunrise Hall.  He could not bring himself to face that alone now.  Instead, he chose to study the tapestries, wandering from Hall to Hall, looking for the ones made by Míriel, the ones depicting his family. 

 

When his desire to see his Father outweighed his grief at losing his Mother, he knew he was ready.  Facing north-north-east, he called out, “Lady Vairë.”

 

She did not come immediately, but she did not make him wait, either.  “What do you wish, Maedhros?”

 

“To see my Father.”

 

She looked at him gravely.  “Walk with me,” she said, offering him her arm.  Awkwardly, he took it, and followed her. 

 

They walked in silence for some time.

 

“Fëanáro was highly admired by the Valar,” she began. 

 

The movement he made in response would have been a snort, had he a body.

 

“It is not easy to surprise a Vala,” she continued.

 

“Who could surprise the Masters of the Fates of Arda?” he asked sardonically.

 

“Only a foolishly arrogant creation would make such a claim.”  He had not realized that was one of Morgoth’s self-chosen titles until she rebuked him.  Insidious.

 

“We are constantly surprised by you, despite what you might think.  Are you ready to learn more of the minds of the Valar?”  He knew she was asking him honestly; that she would not continue without his permission.

 

“I would, at least as it concerns my family,” he said after some length.

 

“My husband is the Doomsman; he knows much of what is and what will be, and he understands the heart of Ilúvatar…if not always his mind.”  She smiled, and seemed less intimidating in that moment than in any other instance since Maedhros had met her.  “So it is natural that you would think he knew the Children just as well as the Father.  But in truth…you have surprised us.  Your wisdom is different from ours, as are your passions.  We knew that Morgoth would bring grief to Valinor…but not precisely how.”

 

“Morgoth is the bitter enemy of us all,” Maedhros said vehemently, remembering old pains and old hatreds as if they were as raw as the loss of his mother. 

 

Vairë paused, and Maedhros slowed his own steps.  “Yes, he is.  Even now.”

 

He took a step away from her.  “How so?” he demanded.  Look after your Father for me.

 

“Why did you fear becoming Morgoth’s thrall?” she asked him, and he remembered how disconcerting her questions were at his judgement. 

 

“I…did not wish to do his will.  But I knew he was stronger than me, so that in time….”

 

She nodded.  “But why was he able to overcome you, proud Noldo?”

 

He blushed, and turned away.  He remembered.  “My defences…they could not keep him out.  It was as if… it was like tickling a child…they can’t defend themselves, then.”

 

He looked back at her, afraid she would be smiling at him.  She was not.  “Do you know why you were…ticklish?” 

 

He had not thought about this before.  “No elf is a match for a Vala.  How could I have fended him off?”

 

“True,” she agreed with him.  “Given enough time, any elf would have fallen to him.  But you were more vulnerable than most, because of your blasphemous Oath.”

 

He saw the truth in her words, and now understood more of his time on the Mountain.  Back then, he had not understood how the rogue Vala had overcome his resistence with so little effort.  But at that time, he had thought that the Oath was a defence against his foe, not his prime weakness.  No wonder he could not defend himself.   

 

“But I have repudiated my Oath.  Lord Manwë and Lady Varda have released me from it.  He has no sway over me any longer.”

 

“Not over you, no,” she answered him.

 

“My…Father.  Did he…did he take back the Oath at his judgement?” he asked tentatively, knowing before he asked that the question was foolish.  His father’s last breath had been to renew the Oath, even when hope was gone.  There was little hope he had changed his mind on arriving here…Fëanáro, who never unsaid anything.

 

“What makes you think your Father would stoop to submit himself to our judgement?” she answered instead.

 

“But…he was the first one here!” he answered unreasonably.  “He should have been judged first.  Why have you left him…?” 

 

“You may see him, and then you may judge whether we have been remiss in our duties.”

 

She entered a hallway that was darker than most; there were no doors in its length.  Save one.  Lady Vairë stopped in front of it, and withdrew a key from her pocket.  “I will leave you with him as long as you like.  When you wish to leave, call my name, and I will return and release you.”

 

“Release me?” he asked uneasily.  He thought that sounded more ominous than merely being locked inside. 

 

She nodded, fit the key into the lock…and then pushed him through the door without opening it. 

 

Fire 

 

The room on the other side of the door was filled with fire.  Not an inferno, but ropes of fire stretched from floor to ceiling.  Hungry tongues of it reached for him as soon as it perceived he was there; for this fire was without a doubt living, as nothing else he had met in the Halls of Mandos was.  Maedhros stood rooted to the spot; unwilling to advance farther into this strange room, and unwilling to flee before he had even….

 

“Father!” he called out, hoping to see his father somewhere in this jungle of flames.  The flames had by now reached him, encircling him and removing any choice of movement.  But they did not touch him yet, hanging back tentatively for a moment.  “Father!” he called again. 

 

His sight adjusting to the bright light, he squinted towards the centre of the flames.  Yes…there was a figure there.  “Father!” he called a third time. 

 

The flames surrounding him moved forward, so he moved with them.  First one step, then another…slowly moving towards the centre of the room.  Here, he could feel the heat roiling off the flames, but he did not fear being burned.  Not this time.

 

There was a figure in the midst of the flames; no, the figure was  the flames.  His father’s spirit was flame…all the fire in the room came from him and had its source in him.  He saw that now.  The fëar of other elves were pale ghosts compared to this fëa.  Míriel  had named him well. 

 

“So, they have sent you to me, have they?” Fëanáro said in greeting.  The voice did not accuse, but it did not acknowledge kinship either.  The flames surrounding Maedhros danced between them, so that his father was speaking to him from a small inferno. 

 

“Yes, Father, I have come to see you.  They have permitted it.”

 

“So they thought I would permit it as well?” 

 

“Do you?”

 

“For now.”

 

Now Maedhros saw why no one was permitted to visit Fëanáro.  He did not wish for visitors…but unlike Celegorm and Curufin, he was able to enforce that policy himself.  He swallowed.  Did he fear his Father?  Should he?

 

“Did you…regain them?” Fëanáro asked, too hesitantly to be demanding, but not brooking failure, nonetheless.

 

Maedhros nodded.  “Macalaurë and I took the last two.”

 

Fëanáro closed his eyes, relieved.  The fires blazed brightly.  But a moment later, his eyes were open, and his gaze was bent on his eldest son once more.  “Where are they now?” he demanded. 

 

Maedhros smiled, though it was neither kind nor mocking.  It was fey.  “I have not come before you empty-handed.  A Silmaril was in my left hand as I died.”  He thrust forward the stump of his left arm, heedless of the flames that danced between them, perversely proud of his injury for the first time. 

 

“What happened?” Fëanáro asked in a low voice.  Maedhros could not tell if he was concerned about his son or his jewels. 

 

“Much.  It is a dark tale, and I have not the skill of Macalaurë to weave it with wondrous words.  I can tell you only the harsh truth.  Will you hear it?”

 

Fëanáro looked at him long, considering.  “You are the same, and yet not unchanged,” he said at last.  “You have grown in wisdom, I deem, but I am curious who taught you.” After my death was implied. 

 

“I am no one’s thrall, Father,” Maedhros answered carefully.  “Listen to my tale and judge for yourself where I learned what I have of truth and wisdom.” 

 

“I will listen,” Fëanáro agreed at last. 

 

Maedhros told his father the history of the Noldor in Beleriand, sparing no details.  He knew Fëanáro would be less than pleased with his decision to hail Fingolfin as King, but he plowed through the story, lingering over nothing.  In this way it was not long before his tale reached Fingolfin’s death in single combat against Morgoth.  Even the Fifth Battle and the subsequent Kinslayings were told at the same reckless pace; no pauses, no hesitation, no apologies. 

 

“I fulfilled the Oath, and followed you in death.  My body was consumed by flames.”  He ended the tale, and silence fell between them.  Now that he was finished, the overbold spirit that had carried him through died off, and Maedhros recovered some of his earlier hesitancy.  He was supposed to look after his Father, not prove himself to him! 

 

“Quite the tale,” Fëanáro murmured.  “Macalaurë will indeed make an impressive song of that.” 

 

“Many songs are sung of our deeds, though not all,” Maedhros said, his voice warning of the condemnations he had left unsaid. 

 

“Do you regret it then?  Was yours not a life well lived?”

 

“It is useless to regret what cannot be undone.  My life was what it was, but it is over now, and I will not return to it.”

 

Fëanáro looked at him closely, and the flames inched closer, closing in around him.  “Whose choice was that?”

 

Maedhros smiled.  “Mine.”  He had requested that fate, had he not?  True, he had not known what those elflings at his judgement would say.  But unwitting or not, it was his choice, not Manwë’s or Námo’s. 

 

“You say you are not a thrall.  But you have exchanged my teachings for those of the Valar, have you not?”

 

“Only when it has seemed good to me.  You did not see everything, and so…”

 

“Do you think I did not see the end?”

 

Maedhros’ eyes flashed.  “Had I seen the end in that moment, I would not have condemned my brothers, as you did.”

 

Fëanáro smiled.  “Yes, you would have.  Your spirit has always burned hot.  You would not have forgotten the crimes against your family.”

 

“Crimes.”  He shook his head.  “Father, no one remembers now that we lost your father first.  They only recall the sea of blood that we spilled ourselves, afterward.  I orchestrated more Kinslayings than you ever did.  I know what it took to push me to that point, to lead my brothers to destruction.  And I assure you that at the moment of your death, I had not yet fallen so far.  I know now how to strike a far deadlier blow against Morgoth, and I have done nothing but work towards that since my death.”  As he spoke, Maedhros knew that his words were true, though he had not seen that earlier.

 

“How can you fight my enemy from here?”

 

“By snatching our family from his grip, finally.  He has a hold on us, even here, unless we repudiate him.”

 

“I have done nothing but repudiate him since I knew him,” Fëanor responded easily.  “I am surprised that you would even suggest that any blood of mine would do aught else.”

 

“Who holds your Oath, Father?”

 

“Ilúvatar, whom I named….”

 

Maedhros shook his head.  “He heard us, and rejected our words as we spoke them.”

 

“Manwë.  Varda.  The holy mountain of Taniquetil.”

 

But Maedhros continued to shake his head.  “Nay, none of them received your Oath.”

 

Fëanor became angry, and a lash of flame whipped about Maedhros’ body, burning him.  He did not flinch.  “What blasphemy are you suggesting?”

 

“The very Oath was blasphemy.  Which Power do you think kept it, in mockery of you?”

 

“Get out!” 

 

The flames now wrapped about Maedhros like a coccoon, and slammed him back against the wall.  Away from his father, so that he could not even see him.  He felt the pain of it, but it was distant, as if it were already a memory, and could not harm him.  But he could not stay much longer, and he may not be permitted to return.  “Mother sends her love to you,” he called out, hoping his father could hear him still. 

 

“Lady Vairë,” he whispered, and fell out into the hallway.

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

 

“Singed a bit?” she asked, but he just shook his head.  Sparks fell to the ground around him, trailing from his hair. 

 

“He did not harm me.”  Though he could not be sure what Fëanor’s intent had been.  He looked at himself and saw that his clothes were in fact smoking.  That had been reckless, kindling Fëanor’s wrath.  His father had always been slow to forgive.  He may have ruined all chance of ever returning.  The visit had been far too brief, if it was to sustain him til the end of Arda.  Look after your Father for me.

 

“Let him think on your words.  He may permit you to come back, in time.”

 

“It may be,” Maedhros agreed, with some doubt. 

 

Vairë again proferred her arm, and Maedhros took it.  He could not remember where he was at the moment, and did not bother to pay attention to where they were walking.  He had too many things on his mind.  But after some time, he noticed they were not returning to his room.  “Where are we going?” he asked.

 

“What has been troubling you?” Vairë asked instead.  Apparently, she had noticed his earlier distraction. 

 

“At my judgement…I thought I was the last.  The last Fëanorean to face the Valar.  But I was not.  I was the first, wasn’t I?”

 

She nodded.  “Yes.  We judge souls when they are ready, not immediately after death.”

 

“Is anyone ever ready immediately?” he asked.  He’d never thought of this before.

 

“It happens sometimes, but it is rare.  Elves accept their deaths even less readily than Men do.”

 

“So my family, we are not unusual?”

 

She smiled.  “Your family is most unusual.  There will never be anyone like you or your brothers again.”

 

He frowned.  “I thought, when I spoke of all those things, that you already knew.  I don’t think I would have said the same things if I had known…if I had known that my family would be facing judgement after me.”

 

“Manwë did not expect you to renounce your Oath at the beginning.  By speaking as you did, you may have made things easier for your brothers.  Knowing that, do you still regret your words?”

 

He had to shake his head.  “I can not regret what happened in the Ring of Doom.  But…”

 

“The illusion that there was nothing left to lose made it easier for you at the time.  Lady Nienna asked us not to disabuse you of the notion until you were stronger.”

 

“So…that was why I was judged first?  You agreed to trick me into it?”  Her explanation was not making him any more comfortable with the situation. 

 

“Maedhros, your mistake was nearer the truth than you realize.  We did already know, but not because your brothers had told us.  We knew because we are the Valar, and it was given to us by Ilúvatar to know.  That is why my husband and I agreed with Nienna.”

 

At this point, they reached an archway that Maedhros was certain he had never passed through before.  With some trepidation, he continued to follow her.  “Where are we?” he asked, remembering that his earlier query had been ignored. 

 

“I would like to show you my workroom.”

 

The room they entered was full of looms, many with half-finished projects on them.  Maedhros walked through the room slowly, looking at the images in awe.  Míriel’s work was skilled, but these tapestries were so fine, the colors seemed to shimmer like water on the looms.  He did not recognize the scenes depicted; the places seemed foreign to him, and the people were dressed strangely.  He saw a mortal king with grey eyes, and was reminded of his brother’s fosterlings.  He wondered, briefly, if that is what kept Maglor chained to his life, preventing him from fleeing to these Halls to escape his pain.  If so, perhaps the Ages were not as impossible for him as they seemed.  He had no way of knowing.  But the one that caught his eye had a dark, dark background, with stars falling from the sky.  “This is the end, is it not?” he asked.

 

“The end of Arda,” Vairë agreed.

 

“Can you see past that point?” he asked her.

 

She smiled at him.  “I remember the Timeless Halls of Ilúvatar,” she said.  “When Arda is no more, I will return there.”

 

He wanted to ask about his own fate, but he did not.  “Will you miss this place, and the work you have done here?”

 

“When the end is near, I will go to stay with Nienna.  There is no way to avoid the wound of loss, if you love truly.”

 

“Did you know it would go wrong, from the beginning?”

 

“Your rebellion?  Of course.  That is why we warned you against it.”

 

He shook his head.  “Our lives.  Did you know the House of Fëanor would sink in grief, until we were all left broken in your Halls?”

 

She turned away from him.  “I know Míriel perhaps better than any other elf who has ever lived.  She is dear to me.”

 

“But that doesn’t answer the question!” Maedhros said in exasperation.  Was it some unspoken rule that the Valar could never tell you a simple, straight-forward answer?

 

She looked back at him considering.  “Treasures are always mixed with dross in Arda Marred.  Your House is great, and its very greatness contains the thread that, when pulled, unravels all the Noldor.  It was not inevitable that your Father would fall, only that however he went, all of you would go with him.”

 

“So we are broken because he chose…poorly.”  Maedhros did not like the sound of that.  He could not accept such a simplistic take on history.

 

She smiled.  “You made your own choices, but they were following in his footsteps.  You may have chosen differently, had he led you differently.”

 

“Then our rebellion was not…fated?”

 

“It would have been difficult to avoid, with Melkor loose in Valinor,” she said quietly at last.  “Manwë thought it encouraging when your family seemed to shun his overtures.” 

 

“But you were not fooled.”

 

She shook her head.  “When Míriel came to me, and spoke of her son, I knew there would be enmity between him and the children of Indis.  It could not end well.”

 

“But Fingon son of Fingolfin was closer to me than a brother.  It was not all enmity between us.”

 

She smiled.  “I know.  There are always surprises, no matter how inevitable the path of history seems.  For this reason, I only hang tapestries whose time has passed.  As long as they remain unfulfilled, they stay here, in my workroom.”

 

“Do not expect me to alter my Father.  He is stronger than I have ever been, and he is not easily swayed.”

 

“But he does not dislike the truth.  He may listen to your words, in time.”  She gestured to a nearly finished tapestry.  In it, Fëanor as a spirit of fire offered three jewels to Manwë while Yavanna stood by.  Maedhros stared at it in awe. 

 

“This is…this is what you requested.  That day.  When the Trees darkened.  Could it have truly come to pass?”

 

“Not as things happened, no.  But had your grandfather remained in Tirion, and had your Father worn his jewels in pride rather than hording them in suspicion, that day may have gone far differently.”

 

“I…I would have been the one responsible at Formenos, when Morgoth came,” Maedhros said carefully.  “Whatever I did would have…would have mattered.”

 

“Perhaps.  But I have not yet unravelled this tapestry.  Some hope remains.”

 

“How?  The Silmarilli are lost, because I foolishly destroyed what I could not have myself.”  He hung his head in shame.

 

“It awaits the remaking of the world, but it is not lost forever.  The Valar are patient.”  She paused in the doorway.  “Maneséro, lead Maedhros back to his room when he is ready.”  She left him.

 

He wandered about her workroom, looking at each loom in turn.  Strange…he had not spent much time here wondering what would be outside these Halls.  What had become of Beleriand?  He had concerned himself only with his family, only with what would happen inside the Halls of Mandos.  But that was because this was his world now.  The world outside these Halls was beyond his reach, as much as the stars or the Sea had been in life.

 

Maneséro led him back to his room, and he questioned his guide about the Lady Vairë. 

 

“She is upset by very little; she takes everything in stride,” he said.

 

“Like my Mother,” Maedhros said, and realized he could now mention Nerdanel without overwhelming pain.  “I wish I knew why she disliked me, though!”

 

“Dislike you?”  The Maia seemed surprised.  “Why would you say that?”

 

“She asks me the most disconcerting questions.”

 

The Maia smiled at him.  “She does that to everyone.”

 

“Even you?” Maedhros asked.

 

He nodded.  “She once asked me why I never approached elves who had just entered these Halls.”

 

“Why do you not?”

 

He shook his head.  “It is very disturbing to see an elf who is so…lost.”

 

“But you did, after she asked you, did you not?” Maedhros was starting to understand Vairë’s tactics a bit better.

 

Maneséro nodded.  “She allows few elves to see her workroom.  I do not think she dislikes you, son of Fëanáro.”

 

The rest of their walk was in silence, and the Maia left Maedhros at his doorstep.  He opened the door, and was surprised to see Celegorm there. 

 

“Celegorm?”

 

His brother turned and looked at him, and he saw immediately that the eyes were no longer pure white.  They were still covered in a milky film, but the faint grey of his irises could now be distinguished behind it.  “I told you I would wait for you,” his brother said, standing in greeting.  “You were not joking about it being a long time, though.”

 

“How…how long have I been gone?” Maedhros asked, a bit worried.

 

Celegorm shrugged.  “I do not keep time here.  But you will find that some things have changed in your absense.”

 

Maedhros could tell his brother was hinting at something in his roundabout way, but could not guess what it might be.  The room looked exactly as he had left it.  He shook his head. “But first…how are you?”

 

“Better,” Celegorm said.  “I…I am glad to have my brothers again.”   And he did look better.  Maedhros did not realize how melancholic his exhuberent brother had become until he saw the change in him now.  Still, he was hesitant about something, reluctant to be fully honest. 

 

“What are you not telling me?” Maedhros finally asked. 

 

“Caranthir has some news for you.”

 

Maedhros went still.  “Where is he?”

 

“In his room.  Do you remember the way?”

 

Maedhros nodded.  “Would you like to accompany me this time?”

 

Celegorm shook his head.  “I think I will wait a bit longer.  Why is it that the oldest sons always get the best rooms?” he teased. 

 

Maedhros smiled at him.  “You will have to tell me more when I return.”  And, he supposed, he had news of his own to share. 

 

---

 

 

 

Caranthir was pacing.  Maedhros was surprised to see all the walls within reach of his arms covered in chalk markings.  It was only then that he realized how seldomly he visited his very private brother.

 

“Celegorm sent me,” he said in greeting, hoping to explain both his presence and his former absense. 

 

“What does it mean to you, to be alone?” Caranthir asked, looking up and pausing in his pacing.

 

“It reminds me of Thangorodrim,” Maedhros answered honestly enough. 

 

Caranthir grimaced.  “I’ve never minded it, you know.  I used to enjoy escaping from the house when I was young, just to have a break from everyone.”

 

“I know,” Maedhros said quietly.  “It is good for everyone to be alone…for a little while.”

 

“Even our Mother?”  Caranthir asked, and the conflict was written on his face.  Maedhros could see the anguish pulling him in two directions at once.

 

“Maglor may come to her, someday,” Maedhros said, trying to be reasonable.  It did not sit well with him, either, that all of them were here and she was in Valinor alone – again.

 

Caranthir shook his head.  “That is not good enough.  She should not have to wait alone.”

 

“Surely our cousins will not neglect her,” Maehros said, trying to ease Caranthir’s guilt.

 

Caranthir just glared at him.  “It was not news of the deaths of her nephews that slew her.”

 

“I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do…”

 

“But I can, Maedhros.”  They stared at one another.  “I can leave.”

 

“You said,” Maedhros began cautiously, “that you would never meet the Valar’s demands.”

 

Caranthir shrugged.  “I would not do it for myself.  But for her?  I can bear it.”

 

Maedhros just stared at him, willing him to divulge what punishment had been inflicted on him.  Caranthir saw the question on his face, and looked away.  He picked at the border of the banner he had pieced together when he arrived in these Halls.  “It is nothing odious or burdensome.  Nothing shameful.  I do not need your pity or sympathy.”

 

But still, Maedhros said nothing.

 

Caranthir’s resolve crumbled under that silent gaze.  He had intended to keep this secret, but could not bear leaving without explanation.

 

“At my judgement, the Valar told me I would be released once I…” He winced slightly.  “Once I apologized to the victims of Doriath.”

 

“That is all?”  Maedhros said despite himself, relieved that it was something so simple, and yet half surprised that his brother had avoided this penance for so long.

 

“Not just any victims.  Dior’s sons.”  Caranthir’s eyes met his older brother’s, and he saw the horror there.  He smiled grimly.  “Do you see now why I have avoided it this long?”

 

Maedhros nodded.  “I saw them at my own judgement.”

 

“But I cannot leave Mother alone.  I have to do it.” 

 

Maedhros just nodded again.  “I can spare her one of her sons.”

 

Caranthir looked relieved.  They embraced, and Maedhros realized he would never see his brother again.  “Send her my love.  And say…say that I will look after Father for her.”

 

When he returned, Celegorm looked guilty.  “I tried to warn you,” he said uncomfortably.

 

“I am not upset,” he said.

 

“You…aren’t?”  Celegorm asked cautiously.

 

Maedhros shook his head.  “Wounded, maybe, but this was inevitable.  I knew our family would be sundered again, and it is only a matter of time before the rest of you rejoin her.  Caranthir is merely…first.”  He did not have to tell anyone that he had wept on his way back. 

 

“I am so glad you do not have Curufin’s temper,” Celegorm said in relief.  “I have been dreading sharing this news with you.”

 

Maedhros went still.  “Our brother’s temper does not disturb me any longer.”

 

“You’ve…you’ve seen Father, haven’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Maedhros admitted.

 

“And how…how is he?”

 

“The same as always.  A spirit of fire.  He asked me about…the Silmarils.” And he burst out laughing.

 

“Maedhros?”

 

“Of all the things he could have asked….”

 

“Brother?”

 

Maedhros got control of himself.  “I told him about all of you, do not fear.  But he didn’t ask.  He never asked.” 

 

---

 

 

 

The twins were glad to see him again, though they were distraught at losing Caranthir.  Maedhros was bemused, because he knew it would not be forever for them.  They had visited Curufin again, only to find that Námondur was gone; he no longer needed a guard.  That was encouraging, at least.  Now they were at Fingon’s fountain, the place the twins always gravitated to, particularly when they were upset. 

 

“But our family is being splintered apart,” Amrod complained, splashing his hands in the fountain.  “You’ll never leave here.  Maglor will probably never leave Middle Earth.  And Father is locked up.  So now that Mother and Caranthir are back in Valinor…we’ll never be together again.”

 

“Never is a long time, even for us.”  Maedhros thought it odd to be having this conversation here.  “We may all meet again, in the end.  Besides, you will rejoin Mother and Caranthir someday.”

 

“Only by leaving you behind,” Amras said quietly.  “Amrod is right; our family is divided.”

 

“At least you’ll have each other,” Maedhros replied.

 

“Nelyo!”

 

He started suddenly, and was three steps towards the door before he even had a chance to realize he was moving.

 

“Maedhros?  Is everything alright?” Amras asked him.

 

“Father called me; I have to go,” he said in explanation.

 

The twins’ eyes went wide, and they looked at one another a bit in awe.  “Tell him…” Amrod began, helplessly trailing off. 

 

“Send him our greetings,” Amras said, his face a mask. 

 

Maedhros nodded, then turned to go.  He realized he would need Lady Vairë to get in the door, so he called for her before he got there.  He found her waiting for him.  She said nothing to him, but put the key in the lock and pushed him through the door.

 

He blinked, adjusting his sight to the blazing light that was Fëanor’s room of fire.  “Father?” he called out, taking a few tentative steps forward.  The ropes of fire did not snake around him this time, but allowed him to advance further into the room. 

 

“You called,” he said, when he could see Fëanor.  “I came as quickly as I could.”

 

“When did you speak to your Mother?” Fëanor asked him without preamble.

 

Maedhros nodded.  “You should not wonder.  You know that elves may succumb to grief and loss.  What elf has lost a husband and seven sons besides Nerdanel?”

 

“She is dead then,” he said quietly.

 

Maedhros shook his head.  “No, not any more.  She was re-embodied.  Caranthir has gone to her.”

 

Fëanor seemed surprised by that news; Maedhros could see him turning it over in his mind, testing it for flaws. 

 

“She told me why you quarrelled.”

 

Fëanor looked up in surprise.  “And what was her version of that story?” he asked suspiciously.

 

“That you did not wish for a daughter, and were not happy with her for mentioning the idea.”

 

“It was not that she mentioned it,” he said sharply.  “It was the remarkably bad advice that accompanied the remark.  I do not see why –“

 

Maedhros cut off his Father.  “There is something you should know.”  He really didn’t want to hear any more about his parents’ quarrels, especially knowing they would never meet again.

 

 

 “Well, what is it?” Fëanor demanded.

 

“She was given Finwë’s choice when she was re-embodied.”

 

Fëanor went completely still.  The fires in the room retreated inwards, leaving the edges of the room in darkness.  Finally, he found his voice, and it was full of wrath.  “How DARE they?  Do the Valar not realize the damage they have already done to my family?  What makes them think they can give my wife to another elf?”  Each word served as a coaxing bellows to stoke the embers to life again. 

 

Before his Father’s anger could be kindled to a blazing inferno, Maedhros delivered the news he’d meant to all along.  “She chose you, though.  She told them she was content with her family, and she would abide by the decision she made long ago.”

 

The anger burned away as quickly as it had come.  “Did she now?” he asked quietly, a little in awe.

 

“Even though she knows she will never see you again, she will remain faithful to you, Father.  You made no mistake in choosing my Mother.”

 

“No, I did not,” his Father agreed.  “She was the one who taught you boys that the first one to lose his temper always lost, did she not?”

 

Maedhros laughed, relieved.  For the first time, he saw the fire before him not as a stranger, but as the elf he remembered from Valinor, before darkness and madness erased that memory forever.  He wanted nothing more than to sit down and trade stories with his Father for the next Age.  But…he did not. 

 

“Is there…anything else, Father?” he asked, patiently waiting for some indication that his presence was still desired.  He knew better than to impose.

 

“Tell me how our family is.  How they are now,” he clarified.

 

““Ambarrusa send their greetings,” Maedhros began. “Carnistir has been re-embodied.  The twins will join him soon, though they do not know that yet.  Tyelkormo is blind here, but his vision is improving.  Curufinwë…”  he stopped, not knowing what to say.  “…needs the most work,” he finally settled on. 

 

“And what do you mean by that?” Fëanor asked, gravely listening to this recitation. 

 

“He is the only one who has not faced judgement,” Maedhros said, trying to choose his words carefully.  “He has accepted his own death, though, so the madness that gripped him has passed.”

 

“So you find that judgement has helped your brothers?”  He knew he was on trial again, even though the question was asked so mildly. 

 

“It is one of the surest and speediest ways to the truth.  Unfortunately, it is also rather painful.”  He rubbed the stump of his left hand. 

 

“Who cut your hand off?”  Fëanor asked.

 

“Findekáno,” Maedhros replied, wondering how his Father knew that it was no accident or injury.  Fëanor did not enquire further.

 

 “And what of Macalaurë?  You did not speak of him.”  He did not even seem to change the subject. 

 

“He lives.”  He shrugged.  “As far as I know, he intends to stay in Endórë.”

 

“What is there for him?”

 

“Not the Silmaril,” Maedhros said bitterly.  “He has foster sons, though.”

 

“Whose?”

 

“The sons of Eärendil son of Itarillë and Elwing daughter of Dior, grandson of Elwë Singollo.”

 

Fëanor thought that over for awhile.  “There is something more about those boys.  What are you not telling me?”

 

“That I am why they were orphaned,” he said bitterly.  “And they are half-elven.”

 

“I was right about the mortals, was I not?  They did usurp us.”

 

“Perhaps.  It had not happened at my death, but I imagine much has changed since then.  They were nothing like I expected.” 

 

“Tell me of the ones you knew.”

 

Cautiously, Maedhros took a seat on the floor and began to speak to his Father openly. 

 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

“Singed a bit, were we?” is a line from The Princess Bride.  A thousand pardons. 

 

Maneséro = Good Peace, a maia of Vairë

 

I would like to blame Fëanor for the long delay, but in reality I know there is no excuse. My intense apologies for making people wait *years* for this update.