Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 7: The Fourth Station

Most of this chapter was already posted as a one-shot, so it may look familiar :).

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In time, he did.

Fingon had led him back to his door that day, and repeated the invitation that Míriel had first offered him – to call whenever he wished for him. For a time, he was content to do just that. When he no longer wished to be alone, he would speak the name of one of them, and they would come to him and visit, or go with him about the Halls. He never thought to venture beyond his room alone, and he met no one else in their wanderings.

He had not noticed his nakedness before, but he missed the clothing of his spirit. He guessed now that his childish actions were tied to the sudden thoughts that flared through his fëa untamed by the habits of his body as they had been in life. Whether he liked this novel existence or not, he had little choice but to accustom himself to it. Being alone was a balm, for then he had time to sort out the tangle of his thoughts. He soon learned that memory was real here, and that no distance separated him from the past. In time, he learned to guard his thoughts, but never fully succeeded.

One day, he asked the Lady Míriel if there were any chalk in the Halls. She seemed amused by his request, but some time after she left, another of Lady Vairë’s maidens arrived with some brightly colored chalks. He lay on the floor and covered the brown paper with figures and shapes and writing, reveling in the ability to write with his right hand again. The border he patterned after the stones of his floor. When he was finished, he thought the work looked like the artwork of a child, but he gave it a place on the floor next to the pillow.

Some time after he was finished, when he was contemplating again what the ceiling might be made of, he heard a voice call, "Maitimo!"

He sprang lightly to his feet, and reached for the door, not pausing until he stepped over the threshold. He looked about, curious for a moment, and then headed in the direction the voice seemed to come from. He took many turnings, but always he felt he knew where to go. Finally, he paused beside a door in the wall, a heavy wooden door not unlike his own cell. He knocked, but received no answer. So he tried the door, and found it opened with a slight thrust of his hand. He stepped into the room, and then paused in shock.

"Mother? How came you here?" he asked in distress.

Nerdanel sat on a low couch strewn with blankets, but leapt to her feet when she saw who had entered her room. She did not reach for him, but her eyes devoured the sight of him hungrily. "Maitimo," she said quietly. "How I have longed to see you again."

He held out his arm in invitation, and she stepped into his embrace gratefully. "I am glad to see you again, Mother, though I must say that I did not know you were in these Halls. I thought…we had left you safely behind in the Blessed Realm. How came you to be here?"

"It is not by swords alone that elves can be slain," she said ruefully. "There is one weapon that even the Valar cannot stay – I was slain by grief, in the end."

He shuddered. "At my judgement, I said I would be ashamed to see you again. But I see now that I did not answer for all my deeds in that moment." She sat back down on her couch, and beckoned for him to sit by her. He complied.

"It is not your deeds that drove me here…or at least, not yours alone," she tried to reassure him. "Everyone always said I was strong. I watched my sons follow my husband when he was exiled to Formenos…and my heart did not break. I watched you all desert Tirion and forsake our home, and my heart did not break. I heard of the Kinslaying and the doom of Mandos, and my heart quailed, but still, it did not break. I waited through all the long years, when no news came from the East, and still, my spirit was not conquered. Between hope and endurance, I went on. But in the end…"

"Who brought you the news?" he asked quietly.

"Your Uncle Arafinwë," she said, with half a smile. "He returned from the great War, triumphant and yet subdued. I knew the news could not be good, for all they said that Morgoth was thrown down. He saw me waiting there in hope and doubt, and his spirit fell dim. I knew the news would be little to my liking, but I demanded the tale from him. Even so, I was not prepared to hear it." She looked down at her lap, and repeated in a whisper:

"Fëanáro, slain so long ago. Five of my sons dead before the Host arrived, with dark tales told of just why Eärendil and Elwing came fleeing to the West in the moment they did. And the last two, who lived through all those long years, and fought and survived many battles…only to falter at the end. The Host returned empty-handed because my sons sneaked into the camp like common thieves to claim the Silmarilli for their own…"

"And that is when my heart broke," she said simply. "I had lost you long ago, before you ever took your Oath or left Aman. But the stories he told were of strangers, not the sons I had watched play as elflings and grow into tall lords. My children were lost, lost, and I would never recover them. I left then. I wandered alone, seeking out the wild places in Aman where once Fëanáro and I had found joy. But now all was dark, and the despair and grief clouded my heart. One day, I laid myself down and never woke up. Instead, I found myself here."

He drew her to him, holding her shoulders and putting her head upon his chest. He wanted to say something, anything, but had no words to assuage her grief. So he just rocked, and made half-sobbing crooning noises, trying to let her know how bitterly he repented of his actions in that hour.

Eventually, she pulled away. "But now you are here, Maitimo," she said, smiling at him weakly.

He tried to return her smile, but found he could not. "I…" He stopped. "Mother," he said gently, "there is much I must apologize for. When we left, we did not mean to abandon you, we just…"

She shook her head. "No, I understood. Who knew Fëanáro better than his wife? It was no surprise to me that each of you chose to follow him, for the strength of his will is such that he will not be denied."

"You denied him," he answered, trying not to accuse her, but failing to keep that from his voice.

"Do you really think so?" she said quietly. "Do you even know what quarrel came between us?"

Maedhros looked down. "No. Neither of you would speak of it in our presence. He only said… that it was not needful for you to follow us to Formenos."

She looked down at her hands. "It started long before that," she said quietly. "Such a silly thing, really. I suppose there is no harm in telling you now." She looked up at her eldest son, and searched his eyes. Whatever she saw there must have reassured her, for she continued. "It was not long after the twins were born. Or rather…not long after your cousin Artanis was born. I asked your Father, ‘Where are our daughters?’ for it seemed a strange thing to me that all seven of our children had been sons. I was just teasing lightly, for of course our hearts were full with all of you. But he turned on me harshly, and said that he would not be mocked just because his half-brothers had a daughter each. As I said, it was a little thing. But after that day, I found a distance had grown between us, so that no longer did we make our decisions together. He… would not listen to me."

She looked at Maedhros, and half-smiled. "So you see, I do not think it was I who denied him. He turned from me, and I merely chose not to follow."

"I do not understand," Maedhros said, confused. "Why would such an inconsequential thing matter so much? You did not beg him for daughters, and neither of you had any say in whether we were sons or daughters. He cannot say you denied him sons!"

She shook her head. "No, there was more to it than that, though how much more, I did not see until I arrived here. You know of many wives that were left behind in Aman….but do you know what caused the first separation of husband and wife here?"

"Do you mean grandfather?" he asked. She nodded. "Grandmother died," he answered matter-of-factly. "What did that have to do with anything?"

"Do you know why the Lady Míriel remains here?" she continued.

"She agreed not to be re-embodied. Otherwise, the Valar never would have permitted Finwë to marry Indis. But all the Noldor know this."

"Yes, that is true. But do you know why Finwë was anxious to marry Indis in the first place, and could not wait patiently for his own wife to return?"

Maedhros just shook his head. "I never thought about that. I supposed she loved him."

Nerdanel smiled at him. "She did, of course. But Finwë told the Valar that he desired more children. He had no daughters."

Maedhros took that in. "Oh…I suppose…Father knew this?" She nodded. "And he was never…pleased…with the children of Indis." Understatement of the Age, but no need for either of them to get into something they both knew very well. "So…he rejected you before you would have the chance to hurt him as his father had?"

"That seems to be the way of it," Nerdanel answered calmly.

"But that is ridiculous!" Maedhros said, standing up.

"You never married, did you, Maitimo?" she asked him, amused. He had to shake his head. "Most disputes between married couples are ridiculous, when viewed from the outside. It is not easy to become so…vulnerable."

"But…we shouldn’t have all left you," Maedhros said quietly. "His grievance was not just, and someone should have stayed with you."

"Regrets will not change the past. Do not trouble yourself about what could have been."

"Mother, at least let me apologize for the hurts I have caused you," he said earnestly. "I had not thought to see you here, and now I know that you did not forget us when we left. If I had known that I would have to face you again some day…"

"You would not have acted any differently, Maitimo. Trust your mother to know you that well!"

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But…I did not think about those who were waiting in Valinor. If I had considered that…I may have avoided my last mistake."

"Why did you steal the Silmarilli from Eonwë?" she asked. "I simply could not picture you and Macalaurë doing something so rash and desperate."

"I was afraid to bring the Oath to Valinor unfulfilled," he answered. "I could not see any other options, so I fulfilled it in Beleriand, fully intending to die in the act."

"And you did," she said.

He shook his head. "No," he whispered. "Eonwë spared us. He let…he let me see that our Oath was forfeit. I did not die until after…I had lost what I had fought so hard to gain."

"What became of Macalaurë?" she asked then. "Arafinwë could not tell me…."

"Neither can I," Maedhros said regretfully. "I only know that he is not here, that he lived. And I know…I know the pain he experienced when he took the Silmaril in his hand." He shuddered at the memory.

"And your other brothers?" she asked to distract him.

He looked up at her. "I do not know. I can tell you how they died, for I was there. I can tell you they are here, for Lord Námo has told me as much. But I have not seen them, despite having asked for them since my death."

"Will I be allowed to see them?" she asked, her fear written plainly on her face.

"You will have to ask Lord Námo," he said. "I am only just learning the rules here myself. But Mother…." He took her hands in his right hand. "You are here for healing. The tears of a mother will not be denied. Do not fear the Lord of Mandos."

She looked down at her hands, and then caught sight of Maedhros’ left arm. "Your…hand." She sounded confused.

"I lost it," he explained. "But do not worry, it does not pain me at all."

"But I thought…I thought the fëa did not show the wounds of the hroa?"

He flashed her a crooked smile. "But Mother, this was a wound of the fëa."

"What could do such a thing?" she asked, recoiling in horror.

He thought a moment. "I am not sure. It wasn’t explained very well. But this was the hand that was clenching the Silmaril when I died, and Lord Námo seemed to think I had not let my hroa go fully. So, he had it cut off."

"He can do that?!"

Maedhros shook his head. "No, you needn’t worry; he will never do that to an elf. I’m a special case – the only maimed elf in Mandos, as far as I know." He paused. "But Mother, I need to know. Can you pardon us for leaving you so long ago…and for not coming back to you?"

She looked at him and smiled. "You are here now, and that is all that matters to me. You and your brothers have always had all of my love, and I have never been angry with you for long."

He embraced her. "Thank you," he said, and turned to go. "If ever you wish to see me, just call my name. The Lord of Mandos will make sure I find my way here."

"Namárië, Maitimo," she called after him, raising her hand in farewell. Then, exhausted, she sank back down onto her couch.

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When Maedhros returned to his hall, he began pacing. He could not rest until he did something. His mother had died of grief. His mother was here in Mandos. He must do something to ease her. He could visit, of course, but he wanted to do more. What could he give her? He had nothing – he was dead. His eyes fell on the pillow that the Lady Míriel had given to him…and what sat next to it. He could give her the brown paper covered with chalk. It was a crude gift, not like the one Míriel had given him. But…it was all he had. If she did not call for him again soon, he would ask one of the Maiar to deliver it for him. With that thought, he calmed enough to stop his restless movement. "Mother died when she learned of my deeds," he informed the puddle of water. "If Maglor and I had returned to Valinor and sued for pardon, she could have born it. She was always strong." He shook his head. "It is my fault, so I must do everything in my power to redress it. But I have no power. I will need Lord Námo’s help to do anything for her." He turned and faced North. "Námo, Lord of Mandos, I beseech you to let me see my youngest brothers, not for my sake or for theirs, but that I may bring news to my mother when next she calls on me." Then he sat down to wait for a response, wrapping his arms about his knees and bowing his head.

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Chapter End Notes

My view of Nerdanel’s despair at the end of the First Age was greatly influenced by Raksha the Demon’s "Fading Embers."  In canon, there is no indication that she died.  Grief, however, can slay an elf. 

The original title of this chapter was "Answering a Call." But I posted Maedhros’ visit with his mother as a ‘preview’ of the story, and called it the Fourth Station, after the Stations of the Cross. The fourth one is "Jesus Meets His Mother." I received such wonderful feedback on that parallel, that I thought it really was a better title.  As for what 'fourth' could refer to here - Maedhros has met Mandos, Míriel and Fingon thus far; Nerdanel is the fourth person he interacts with.