Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 5: A Visitor

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When Maedhros awoke, he was lying on a stone floor. He felt oddly refreshed. Without thinking, he stretched his limbs, and his left hand opened a fraction. The jolt that went through him brought him to full awareness, and he sat up abruptly.

He was back in his cell. He did not know how long he had slept, but it seemed a long time. Already, his judgement seemed distant, and he had no trouble sifting through his memories of it in a very disinterested way. All in all, the wrath of the Valar seemed over-rated. True, he was a prisoner for all eternity. That should bother him. But at the moment, it seemed very mild, a mere slap on the wrist. He felt as if he had awakened to birdsong and a breeze heavy with the scent of tree blossoms on a spring morning. He was… relaxed, as he had not been since … That thought gave him pause – since when? As his memory flew back through the years, it found no place to alight. The end of his life was crowned by constant war, and even the Peace before the Dagor Bragollach was Watchful. Hithlum, the Mountain, Losgar, Alqualondé, Tirion… his memory skittered more quickly here, out of habit, but nothing he recalled assaulted him. He wondered if he were drunk.

"Can a being who cannot drink become drunk?" he asked the pool of water that illuminated the room.

"Not very easily," came an answer from behind him. He craned his neck around to see, and then scrambled to his feet.

An elf-maiden had joined him. She was beautiful, with sad and thoughtful eyes. She had a… stillness… about her that warned him she was ancient. He bowed solemnly. "My lady," he said, but then did not know what to say.

She smiled at him. "I heard you were awake, so I thought I would come have a look at you." The tone was warm, so the words did not alarm him. Maedhros looked past her, and realized that the wall of his cell was as smooth and unbroken as ever.

He returned her smile. "Should I wonder at your advent here, when there is no door?"

She laughed merrily at his question. "I do not suppose you could see one, but then, you are but new-come to these Halls. Perhaps the Master does not yet wish for you to wander about."

"Tell me, lady, who are you? For I feel that I should know you, but I do not recall ever seeing you before." Flashes of recognition had accompanied her voice and movements, but proved too elusive – he could not place her.

"We have never met before," she said sadly. "But I am your grandmother, Míriel called Þerindë."

He stood very still, and his mouth hung open a little. He was speaking to a legend of the past!

"I know that you are Fëanáro’s eldest," she continued. "What name would you have me call you?"

"I have several," he said ruefully. "I answer to Maedhros most readily, but surely you would prefer one of my Quenyan names?"

"Mae-dhros," she repeated thoughtfully. "It does sound strange to me. What did your father call you?"

"In polite company?" he answered cheekily. "Nelyo. When it was just the family, he was more apt to say Á tulë sí."

"He named his first son ‘third’?" she asked, bemused.

"Despite many skills, counting was not his strength," he said seriously, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Your mother had better sense, I hope?" she smiled.

He nodded. "Maitimo. That is what I was called in Aman."

"That name fits you well," she smiled in approval.

"Not any…" he started to say, but then remembered that he did indeed have a right hand again. He flexed it just for the feel of it.

"Ah, but you are whole again," she remarked.

"You… you knew about my hand?" he asked in surprise.

"Does it seem strange that I would know your history but not your name, Maitimo?" she asked, not waiting for an answer. "My Mistress knows all that happens in Arda. I am allowed to see, but never to hear. I recognized your face as soon as I saw you, but your voice is a novelty to me."

"Who is your Mistress?" he asked, uneasy for the first time.

"The Lady Vairë," she replied.

"I do not think she likes me," he said with a frown. Then he added in surprise, "I sound like a child!"

"You look like one, too," she laughed, and stuck out her tongue at him. "Your expression is so wide-eyed and innocent."

At the last word, he stilled. "It is long since I have been innocent, grandmother. I do not know what you have seen, but I assure you…"

She waved him aside. "I know. But here, things are different. You will see. One day, I will take you from here, and show you some of the tapestries."

"What tapestries?" he asked, curious.

"The story of the House of Finwë," she said, and then blushed. "I have been here a long time," she added softly.

"Have you been making tapestries all this time?" he asked in wonder.

"Oh no – only since… since I first regretted my choice."

"What choice was that?" he asked with foreboding.

"I agreed never to be re-embodied. At the time, I did not miss life, but eventually I came to learn that ‘always’ is a very long time. So, Vairë took pity on me and let me join her maidens, so now I have something to do."

"I do not miss having something to do," Maedhros replied without thought.

"No, not yet," she smiled sadly. "You are still very…new to this."

Then memory stirred. "But I will be here as long as you, for I also was doomed to remain here ‘always.’"

"Did you… accept this?" she asked carefully.

He nodded slowly. "I am not accustomed to surrendering, but it only seemed right. I may grow restless in time, but I doubt I will regret that choice. If the only options are the Halls of Mandos or the Outer Darkness…"

She gasped, and her eyes went wide. "Surely they wouldn’t!" She went to Maedhros, and hugged him tightly. "I am glad you are here," she said. "If ever you are lonesome, just call for me." She took a step back from him, and he realized she was about to leave.

"Wait! Before you go….can you tell me, have you seen my brothers? Are they well?"

Her sad smile returned. "No… I cannot tell you. You will have to ask the Lord Námo about them. Namárië, indyonya." With that, she was gone.

For a moment, he felt bereft, for the feeling of being alone overwhelmed him. But the moment passed. He walked around his cell, looking closely at the walls. They seemed solid, and he could see no door. Then suddenly he felt very tired, so he lay down and fell asleep.

***

When he awoke, the reality of his doom came crashing down upon him. The euphoria of escaping annihilation had emphatically worn off. "Forever…" he said, looking at the walls surrounding him. "Until the world’s end, I will be here, trapped…." But no, the lady Míriel had said she would take him to see the tapestries. Was that just a dream? He shook his head in confusion. No, she had been here in truth. He knew he could not have called up such a phantom himself. He got up and began pacing while he thought. He could not escape a doom he had agreed to. So, he would just have to accept this situation, no matter how bleak it seemed. He had already met one member of his family whom he had never expected to see. His goal now was to find out about the rest of them. Míriel could not tell him…or would not.

"My Lord Námo," he said aloud, tentatively. Nothing happened. He sighed. This was awkward. How long would he have to wait? "I would like to speak with you, if I may." Surely the Lord of Mandos was aware of all that happened in his own Halls? "I know you did not promise to reunite me with my brothers. And now I know…" What, precisely, had he learned in his judgement? That he had been their doom as surely as their Father? "Now that I know the part I played in their deaths, I realize they might not be keen to see me. But… I want to see them more than ever. So… may I?" He bent down and plashed his right hand in the puddle on the floor. "I know you can hear me, even if you don’t respond. And no, I did not learn that on the Mountain – I did not know for sure until my judgement. But now that I do know," he grinned, "I will haply repeat myself until you do respond. At your earliest convenience, of course. May I see my brothers? May I? May I? May I?" And then he fell over laughing, because he could not help seeing himself as a young child begging for permission to play outside with the other children. "May I pleeease?" he asked, and then laughed again.

"I hope you are enjoying yourself," said a Voice he recognized.

He quickly composed himself and scrambled to his feet. He bowed respectfully. "My Lord Námo," he said, though a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"What have you been saying to your grandmother?" he asked, and the smile vanished.

"I… nothing. We only just met," Maedhros said uncertainly.

"Then why has she been speaking to the Lady Vairë about the Outer Darkness?" Lord Námo asked.

"I did not tell her about my Oath," he said quickly, and then thought. "Maybe…maybe I mentioned that I had escaped that fate. It’s possible." He looked at Lord Námo uncertainly, hoping that this was not the wrong thing to say. If he had misstepped during his first visit with someone from the Halls… it was unlikely he would be allowed to meet anyone else any time soon. "I am sorry if I did not explain sufficiently. As I said, we only just met."

Lord Námo looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, stroking his chin. Maedhros felt pinned to the floor by that gaze and did not dare move. "I think it is time for you and I to talk," he said at last. He sat down on the ground and gestured for Maedhros to do likewise.

"Your Oath…was never binding. The Powers you swore by did not accept it, and so would not enforce it. I am the Lord of the fëar of the Dead. I will tell you now that I have never sent a fëa of an elf to the Outer Darkness, and I would not do so without the permission of Ilúvatar himself. Such a fate is not within my Authority to ordain."

Maedhros’ brow wrinkled as he tried to digest this new bit of information. "Then… I never had to fear such a fate," he said eventually.

Lord Námo shook his head. "Your fear was misplaced, but not uncalled for. None of the Valar would have done such a thing to you, but you yourself could have chosen it, and we would not have had…permission…to stop you."

"I…I made that choice when I entered your gates," Maedhros said in wonder.

"And again when you agreed to face judgement. And yet again when you accepted our judgement. That path is no longer open to you."

Maedhros looked down unseeing and did not respond for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was in a low, hoarse voice. "I delayed in offering thanks to the Lord Manwë for sparing my life once, and ill came of it. I hope you will accept my thanks now for sparing my very self from… from that nothingness."

"I do accept it, for I consider it my duty. For this reason did I enter into Arda." He stood, and Maedhros did likewise. "I will leave you now. When you are ready, you may call for me again." Maedhros thought he saw mirth in the Lord Námo’s eyes, though his face was as grave as ever.

"I know you will hear me," he said gravely, though his heart, too, was light. He knew now was not the time to ask about the fates of anyone else. For the first time, he was not anxious about his brothers, or even his Father. He resolved in that moment not to call upon Lord Námo needlessly. "Farewell, my Lord. I will be content with the prison you have given me. Please permit my grandmother to return; I will not trouble her with such subjects again."

The Lord Námo looked at him shrewdly. "A child’s promise. Always they say they will not do something – again. If you speak to your grandmother, you are bound to trouble her, as she is bound to trouble you." Maedhros was suitably abashed. Why would he speak as a child, trying to wheedle some boon from a parent? But the Lord Námo continued. "This, however, does not trouble me. This hall will remain open to the Lady Míriel, and she may return if she pleases. Farewell." With that, he was gone.

Maedhros sat back down. He had a lot of thinking to do. One – why was he acting so…immature? It was very unlike him to…beg. And in the past, it had always been with just cause. He knew how to get what he wanted. But now – his attempts were pathetic and childish. Two – who were the Valar? He had learned several things during his judgement, but he had not forgotten the Lady Vairë’s words. He did not know the Valar, and now his entire existence was at their mercy. He would have to learn more about who the Lord of Mandos was. Is. Of all the Valar, he was likely the most consistent, which was saying something. He had never expected to receive mercy at his hands. But…he had. Third – what did he think of that? Of this existence? Would he regret his choice? Would he go mad counting bricks over and over, longing for that insidious voice that he would never hear again? He shuddered at that thought. No, he would not be reduced to that. He would stand by his choice. "I will not go mad if I do not fight this. I accept this existence, and whatever limitations come with it. Though I do not yet know what those are." He idly brushed his hand through the water, and stood when the ripples dissipated.

What did he think of the Valar? He assigned each of them a place, so he could face them in his thoughts as he had in the Ring of Doom. It was also convenient to have a point of reference when speaking to someone who was not visible. He would never again believe that the Valar could not see or hear all that happened in the world. Some things they may not respond to, but they were not ignorant – there was no keeping secrets from them, at least not here. But what did he think of them? He did not fear them. He had faced them, daring them to do their worst, and accepted his fate. So, they could not harm him now. He paused. That assessment did not seem – honest. "There is still much I do not know," he admitted, facing the point he had designated as "West" before his judgement. This place of honor was reserved for Manwë and Varda, of course. But that left "North" for the Lord of Mandos – all the more reason not to address him too often, he thought wryly.

By the same logic, he could avoid Ulmo, though his true reasons were much different in his case. His fear of the Lord of the Sea had been reduced, true, but he still dreaded meeting him. He knew why. Ulmo had been close to Finrod and Turgon…and Eärendil. Turgon hated him and his brothers and would have nothing to do with them. Finrod he counted as a friend…but Finrod had died because of his foolish, conniving brothers. He had not known of their plan, or he would have intervened. But…he knew why Curufin had done it. Not only had he himself given up the crown of the Noldor, and thus betrayed his family (in the eyes of certain of his brothers), but he had denied them all the opportunity to carve out kingdoms and fashion themselves as kings. Had Curufin had a kingdom of his own, his eyes would never have strayed greedily to the crown of Nargothrond. Maedhros knew this – and he was certain Ulmo knew as well. But the worst mark against him was the Kinslaying at the Havens. Those refugees were under the personal protection of Ulmo. Eärendil and Elwing were his people, as surely as Ossë and Uinen were. His complicity in that slaughter was clear for all to see. The twins had died, and many were willing to forgive the dead. Maglor had adopted the orphaned twin sons of Eärendil, counting in his favor. But what had he done to redeem himself? Nothing. As surely as Ulmo had protected the Noldor during their exile, his disapproval of Maedhros would stand now. He could only hope the Lord Ulmo was not a frequent visitor to the Halls of Mandos.

But as for his own behavior, he had no answer. He was out of sorts, giddy, thoughts flying from one place to another. Both Míriel and Lord Námo had called him a child. That was not acceptable. He would have to find the cause and do something about it before he had any more visitors. What had changed? He was dead, of course. No longer able to do anything…ah. No consequences. No wonder he was acting like a little child. He could get away with it. That would not do. But was that all? There was also the issue of judgement. What was judgement, anyway? All that had happened was that he had learned his doom…and the truth of his life. Was the truth really so…intoxicating? At the time, it had been very…disturbing. He was not used to avoiding things. But unwittingly, he had shied away from some truths – the fear and pride that drove his Father to the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and trying to hold all the Noldor to his will; the chances he had had to avoid the later Kinslayings. He looked at his hands. They weren’t bloodstained. The lady Míriel had said things were different here…he wondered. You couldn’t undo such a thing – could you? He glanced North, but said nothing. No – Námo had admitted to limits to the Valar’s powers and authority. Even they could not change the past, or alter the truth. Judgement couldn’t change what had happened. But… it did alter the hold the past had on him. If he were to return to life, he would return to his former responsibilities. He would always have to answer for his deeds. But here, dead, in a room alone… who was there to answer to?

The Valar…but he had already answered them. That might explain why he had found it so easy to…laugh. He examined himself. There was no tight band around his chest. No weight on his shoulders. No crease on his brow. He was not tensed at all. So this was the aftermath of judgement. He had expected the results to be more…painful. He looked at his left hand. That at least was still clenched.  Tentatively, he tried to relax it. He couldn’t. His hand simply would not open. He looked at it, puzzled. With his right hand, he grasped his left fist and began to uncurl the fingers. They did unbend when forced, but the now-familiar pain shot through him, and he stopped. The pain was definitely worse than it had been before his judgement. He was not sure what that meant. He did not relish having a useless hand until the world’s end. But…the pain was his. It couldn’t be part of his punishment. Lord Námo had said he would only have it until he didn’t need it any more. "What are you good for?" he asked his hand. "Are you going to erase my past for me?" Not surprisingly, his hand did not answer. He did not see what good the pain would be if he did not open his hand, and in reality, he saw no need to open it. But… he did not know how to get rid of the pain, either. "Lord Námo will tell me when he wants to, and not earlier, I suppose." He walked around the cell once more. It was odd to have nothing to do but catch himself acting childish. But he could be patient.

***

He had no certain sense of time. He knew it was passing, but not how quickly. He did not get weary or sleep, now. He spoke aloud freely, but was sure to think over what he said, later. Over time, he felt less…flighty and giddy. He trusted himself to maintain his composure, anyway, but only a conversation with someone else would determine if he were fully himself again. He supposed he was ready to try….

"Lady Míriel?" he called. "Would you like to talk?" He did not know how she could hear him, but she had said she would come if he called. He really needed to learn how things worked here. One moment, he was alone, and the next, his grandmother was standing there as if she had always been there. Definitely, he had a lot to learn.

"Hello, Maitimo, it is good to see you again," she greeted him.

"I hope…I did not disturb you," he said, not knowing what was the proper greeting when conjuring one’s dead grandmother.

"No, not at all, dear. Time is something we both have plenty of, seemingly."

"I suppose the world will end one day," he said.

"Yes," she agreed with a frown. "But not…soon."

"How do you know?" he asked in surprise.

"I do not, but I suspect Lord Námo does. And…there are still many empty rooms here."

"They could be filled quickly, if many elves perished at once," he pointed out.

She shook her head. "No, they are…empty. No inhabitants, and no tapestries. The Lady Vairë’s decorations take time to make."

"But my own room has no tapestries – perhaps the others are meant to remain bare as well."

She smiled at him, that strange sad smile that he had never seen on any face but hers. "No, dear," she said quietly. "Your room is the only one I have visited that is neither empty nor decorated."

He felt strangely put out by that, but caught himself. He would not pout like a child denied a candy when all the others had one. "What else is unique about my cell?" he asked instead.

"You are not the only one who cannot see the doors yet," she reassured him. "But I have never seen a light quite like yours." She looked down at the water, and he impulsively bent down to splash it, so she could see the light reflected in ripples on the walls. "Yes, it is very…unique. It reminds me of something, but I do not know what."

"The Trees?" he asked quietly.

"No, not quite. It is different, somehow."

"Fire?" he tried again, trying to think what other lights she might have seen.

"No… it is more like those jewels Fëanáro made."

"The Silmaril?" he gasped, looking down at his pool with new eyes. The light had come from his left hand…the one that was clutching the Silmaril when he died. "No…it is not the same," he said, partly relieved, partly disappointed.

"It is like seeing the - Silmaril, did you say? – in a room lit by open flames."

He nodded. "That is about right," he said quietly. "Do you know how I died?" he asked.

Now it was her turn to nod. "Yes, I saw it. Oh – that is why you don’t have a tapestry!" she exclaimed. "This light – it is your story already. The missing part, what I did not recognize… it shows the copper of your hair perfectly."

He looked down at his hair self-consciously. "Oh?"

"You’d be amazed how difficult it is to match that exact shade," she said shyly. "In the end, I had to use thin copper wire twined with the threads."

"I…would like to see your work, Lady Míriel," he said formally.

"I’ll see what I can do," she answered sincerely. "I don’t think I can take you on a tour yet. But someday, perhaps."

"Whom else do you visit?" he asked curiously.

"The ones I can," she said, her sad smile returning. "Some are not allowed…visitors, and others do not wish for them. Many of the Noldor take some comfort in seeing me here, I have found, so I do try to visit them."

"A true queen," he said with a genuine smile.

"I enjoy it!" she said with a laugh. "For so long, I was the only elf here. And now…I can barely keep track of them all."

"You did not know my name…" Maedhros said slowly. "Did my grandfather not tell you?"

"Oh," she said nervously. "I’m not supposed to talk about our family."

"And Father…surely he would have told you the names of his sons? Or at the very least of his Silmarils?"

"There are some things I cannot explain to you," she said sadly, "but the answers are not what you think."

"How do you know what I think?" he asked suspiciously.

"Someone told me," she said mischievously.

"I am glad you are enjoying this game," he said shortly. "I will see you…later."

"If that is what you wish," she said sadly, and turned to go.

He considered stopping her, but thought better of it. He merely asked "Would you mind if I called you again?"

"You may." She smiled, and vanished.

After she left, he waited for his thoughts to stop churning. He needed to…get his bearings. Leaving the topic of their conversation aside, he considered his own behavior. It was not as childish as his first meeting with her, perhaps, but it still left something to be desired. He would not be begging Lord Námo to let him out just yet. Then he considered his grandmother, who had been unknown to him in life. It was difficult to see her as Father’s mother. She…seemed rather timid. And not the least bit capable of carrying a plot of any sort, he thought sourly. Yet she was no fool. Nor was she particularly…he paused, and frowned while he searched for the word. She didn’t seem…to care about things. She lacked the passion that he had grown so accustomed to seeing in all of Finwë’s descendents. She…had been dead too long. He shivered. What would become of him, in these lonely Halls? What had become of his brothers, his cousins, his people? His father? His grandfather?

And that brought him back to their conversation. He knew his grandfather was the first elf to join Míriel in these Halls. He had seen the body. And yet… she had not given any indication of speaking to him since she had been here. It was many long years since her only son had died, and yet she did not know the names of Fëanor’s sons or works. She had come to see him immediately after his judgement. So, what had barred her from seeing them? The reason is not what you think. Well, what did he think? "I am in a room without doors, and not permitted to leave," he told the wall dedicated to Aulë. "It would be easy to suppose that the prisons of my grandfather and Father do not permit anyone to enter, either." But the easy answer would not explain anything. "She spoke to someone about me – but whom?" Reluctantly, he looked to Vairë’s place. "I know she is conversant with you, for both she and Lord Námo have admitted as much. It could have been either of you, I suppose. She visits others of the Noldor who are here…but who among them could speak of me without using any of my names? No, it was one of you. What did you tell her, I wonder? I must suppose you know me nearly as well as I know myself, for nothing was hidden from you during my judgement…or before hand, either, seemingly. So, what did you think I would think about this? I could well see my father refusing visitors, but not his own mother. Your spouse would not permit me to see anyone prior to judgement, but surely they faced their judgements long ago. So, I must suppose it is a punishment, imposed upon them. And that is what you would have told her." He lapsed into silence. It was frustrating to figure out what he thought just to discard that option. But he had solved weightier puzzles in the past, hadn’t he? He turned back to the North, and addressed the Lord of Mandos for the first time since he had left him. "What reasons would you have for keeping my grandmother from her husband and her son? Are you protecting her? Or them? Or yourself?" He frowned. He did not like how that sounded. "Is it because grandfather has a living wife as well as a dead one? Did no one consider that possibility when he was granted permission to marry a second time, alone of all the Eldar?" But that would not explain her failure to speak to Fëanor. "What has Father done now?" he said quietly. "Míriel does not act like a mother who has been barred from seeing her only child. So why have they not spoken?" Was he just being blind? Assuming that the dead would speak of him? But no, he was right to see it as unnatural that they had not. He shook his head in frustration. There was too much he did not know. His experience of being dead was limited to himself – he could not even fathom what the other possibilities were. For all he knew Finwë had been asleep since his death and that was the sole reason Míriel had not spoken to him. He stood up in exasperation and started pacing.

"I need more information. I need to find out what this life…this lack of life…is. I need to talk to someone else…anyone. I will go mad if I stay alone. I must…"

He stopped. He fixed Manwë’s wall with a wry smile. "I do trust you, my Lord. I know you will not leave me here to rot. But you must understand that the unknown is very…disconcerting."

He dropped to the ground and propped his elbows on his knees. He bowed his head. There had to be some way…to talk to others. Míriel came when he called. Would anyone else? Why had he not tried that before?

"Father." He said it quietly, not daring to hope it would work. "Father, if you can hear me, please…." Please what? "Please, I would like to...speak with you. To see you again." He looked at the water on the floor beseechingly. "Please, Father," he said once more.

Nothing happened. There was no change. He bowed his head again, and waited.

*** *** ***

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Chapter End Notes

Author’s Notes: A variation of the "joke" about the name Nelyo was told first (and much better) by Ivanneth in "The Follower." I read that shortly before writing this scene, and want to fully acknowledge her brilliance.

Á tulë sí (Sinomë túla sí) = "Come (here) now" (Quenya)

Namárië, indyonya = Farewell, my grandson (Quenya)