Lessons from the Mountain by MithLuin

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Chapter 8: Waiting Is the Hardest Part

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Chapter 8: Waiting Is the Hardest Part

He looked up when he heard a polite knocking on his door. "Come in," he called, not thinking to ask who it was.

Fingon stepped in, and said easily, "Where have you been, cousin? I have not seen you in a long time."

"Has it been that long?" Maedhros asked in surprise. "I have simply been…waiting."

"For what?" Fingon asked, curious.

"For Lord Námo to…" he paused, grimacing.

Looking at him more closely, Fingon asked quietly, "Maedhros, what is wrong?"

He looked up at Fingon and said, "Nerdanel is here."

Fingon reacted in surprise. "But how…"

"She died of grief, when she was given news of her sons."

Fingon looked sympathetic. "Was it really…that bad?" he asked, hesitantly.

Maedhros nodded. "Yes. Even you would not recognize what we became after the Fifth Battle."

"I don’t see how…"

"But you can guess," Maedhros cut him off quickly. "With the battle lost, and no hope of defeating Morgoth ever, where do you think the attention of my brothers turned?"

Horror started to grow on Fingon’s face. "Not Thingol’s Silmaril…"

"Oh yes!" Maedhros said, though his look was fey. "Though Thingol himself had died, and it was his grandson Dior who refused it to us. As you might imagine, Celegorm was not pleased to be denied by Luthien’s son. We sacked Doriath," he said harshly, ruthlessly telling the story that Fingon had been oh-so-careful not to ask for since they had been reunited. "Dior and his sons were killed, and his wife Nimloth, and many of their people. The Sons of Fëanor had grown fell in their many years on the Marches. Yet Celegorm, and Caranthir, and scheming Curufin all fell that day. And the Silmaril escaped with Dior’s daughter, so we did not gain anything for our trouble, had nothing to show for our blood-stained hands."

"One Kinslaying was enough for me," Fingon said quietly. "I could not have born to do it again, for anything. How did you…."

"How did we survive?" Maedhros asked, his fey mood not changing. "We denied to ourselves that we had done anything wrong. We pretended to forget the Oath. We went mad with despair for years. Oh, there are many ways to survive, cousin."

"But your mother is strong. She already knew of Alqualonde. She should have been able to bear Doriath as well – deeds done in a distant land she never saw."

"No…the loss of half her sons is a different tale altogether. But you are right, she could have born that. The story does not end, though, for four Sons of Fëanor survived, and the remnant that fled Doriath still denied us the Silmaril. We attacked them as well."

"A third Kinslaying?" Fingon blurted out. "Were you mad?" he asked, recoiling in horror.

"Yes, mad," Maedhros said bitterly. "Mad, and trapped by an evil Oath we could not escape. The twins fell there, but still, we did not gain the Silmaril. Suffice it to say the jewel now burns in the sky, beyond the reach of any save Manwë."

Maedhros looked at Fingon. The fey look had faded from his eyes, and now they were ash-cold. His face looked weary. "I thought I had paid for my deeds, but it seems even in my judgement I did not learn the full impact of them."

Fingon remained silent for awhile. "But in this tale, you yet lived. What happened after?"

"The Valar, at long last, went to war. Their Hosts succeeded where we had failed, and Thangorodrim was broken. Morgoth was cast down from his throne and taken captive. The Silmarils were recovered from his crown. The Age ended in victory…or would have." He scowled, for the first time hesitating to go on. Fingon waited patiently, not pushing him.

"The Oath yet lived. Despite Maglor’s protests, I insisted we steal them from Eonwë’s camp, since he had denied them to us. I thought to die fulfilling the Oath, and thus earn some peace at last. But…" He paused, and looked away from Fingon.

"I did not die until afterwards. I could not bear the pain of the jewel – it burned me." Here he looked at his missing hand, and Fingon suddenly understood. "So I…fell…into fire. Maglor did not follow me here. And when our mother heard that news, she was broken by her grief."

Fingon had nothing to say, but he looked on his old friend in pity. "The years were not kind to you," he said quietly after a good deal of time had passed. "I see now why Námo called you Morgoth’s thrall. The Maedhros I knew was never so ruthless, nor did he disregard the lives of elves in his protection. I am grateful that the elf you became was burned away long before we were reunited here. Your mother will never see nor understand that elf."

"The loss of a hand and an eternity in Mandos are small prices to pay for that," Maedhros agreed.  "But you see now my dilemma," he continued. "Her death rests squarely on my shoulders. I did not even know…and I thought all things were revealed at judgement. There are many things Námo has not told me. For myself, I was willing to wait for his time. After all, nothing I do will shorten my stay here. I have all the time in the world, quite literally. But now…"

"You hope he will give you news of your family, so that you may comfort her?" Fingon asked, understanding at last what Maedhros was waiting for.

Maedhros nodded. "I am helpless to do aught else. Not just news, though – I would see them, so that I may report the truth to her without guile. It will be little comfort to Nerdanel to learn how her sons died. But if she knows they are well now, she may heal a bit…."

His eyes strayed to the brown paper. He smiled ruefully. "This is all I have to give to her. She has not accepted such mean gifts since the twins were only to her waist. And now this is all her eldest son can offer her for her comfort." He put his head down, hiding his face in the fall of his hair. He made no sound, but his shoulders quivered, and Fingon knew that he wept for shame and regret.

"I will take your gift to her," Fingon said quietly. "I know you will not willingly return until Lord Námo has answered you."

Maedhros muttered his thanks, but he did not look up. Fingon left him, his heart weighed down with sorrow for his friend’s raw grief. The tale Maedhros told had shaken him more than he cared to admit. Lost in his musings, he did not notice one of Lord Námo’s people approaching him. "Findekáno son of Nolofinwë, would you see the lady Nerdanel?" he asked.

Fingon looked up in surprise, "Yes, please, if your master will permit it."

"He will," the Maia said gravely.

"Then lead me to her, though I wish to see Lord Námo as soon as may be."

The Maia led him to Nerdanel’s door silently, and then left him with a bow. He spoke no word indicating whether the other audience would be granted.

Nerdanel seemed surprised to see him, but he thought his aunt looked well enough. Her grief was plain, but she smiled when he gave her Maedhros’ humble gift. Her room was spacious, and, he noted ruefully, richly decorated. There are advantages to not being a rebel Noldo Kinslayer, then, he thought wryly. He asked her for tales of his mother in Valinor in the years after they had left, and her cares seemed to lighten as she told them. It could not have been easy for any of the widows-with-living-husbands, but life had gone on apace, as it would anywhere. She told him quietly of watching the passage of the Moon and the Sun, knowing that those lights shone on the Noldor in the Outer Lands. When he noticed her spirit growing weary, he took his leave of her, offering to return whenever she wished.

As he closed the door, the Maia who had led him to Nerdanel appeared by his side. "I will lead you to the Lord Námo, now," he said with deference. Fingon paused a moment. There was something…official…sounding to this meeting, and it filled him with foreboding. But he merely nodded. "Very well. I thank you."

Sure enough, the courtyard the Maia led him to was large, with a fountain in the middle…and a throne at the far end. Fingon approached slowly, but he told himself it was out of respect, not fear.

"You wished to discuss something with me?" the Lord of Mandos asked quietly, his voice deep and somber.

Fingon nodded. "Maedhros is grieved to find his mother in your care. He wishes to offer her solace, but is helpless to do so, when he himself is ignorant of his brothers’ fates. Will you not allow him to go to them?" Fingon had not meant to plead his friend’s case immediately, but found he was too conflicted to ask his own questions right now.

"You know why his brothers are in my care?" Námo asked.

Fingon nodded miserably. "Their Oath. Maedhros led them into madness, and…." He stopped. "Oh."

"You can guess, then, why he has not been permitted to see them." Námo continued, "You would do well to remember that I do not always share my reasons with the Eldar in my care."

"Maedhros trusts you," Fingon hastened to add. "He did not ask me to plead with you. He is simply…waiting. For Nerdanel’s sake, please do not let him wait too long."

Lord Námo smiled, "For Nerdanel’s sake I will relent, but the time has always been of my choosing. Now, why did you wish to see me, Findekáno?"

Fingon looked down guiltily. "I…I was at a loss. Maedhros’ confession shook me. I see now that there was much evil in his left hand. But still, I….he is my friend. His mother is good and wise. Must he really wait here for all eternity?"

Námo did not smile any longer. "The Doom of the Valar is not lightly set aside. Maitimo accepts his fate."

"No he does not! He sits in his room and broods, suffering regret and remorse and thinking himself the lowliest of the Noldor. Can you not give him any chance to redress his wrongs?"

"Why does this distress you, Findekáno?"

"Because I…" his voice dropped to a whisper. "I have done nothing but relieve him of his hand, so he may have a perpetual reminder that he is maimed while others are whole. He is…greatly changed."

"Maitimo does not regret the loss of his hand. His regrets are not of your making, and indeed, you have done what little you can to relieve him of them. Your concern does you credit, but he is not your responsibility. Look to your own fëa; do not fear for his."

"We would find it easier to trust you if you told us more, lord." Fingon shook his head wryly.

"The Time of Waiting in these Halls is not meant to be easy. True trust and hope do not rely on the knowledge you seek. Maitimo could learn from your concern, but perhaps you could learn from his patience."

Fingon bowed, realizing he would get no further answer. The Maia who had led him here led him back to his own room. He had much to think about, and would try patience, for now.

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Maedhros had had enough of sitting and waiting patiently for a response that was not forthcoming. He would not ask again, though; the Lord of Mandos had heard him the first time. Finally, he picked up the pillow, and looked at the portrait of his family. "She lost all eight of us," he said quietly. "That is much to ask of anyone, but no mother has lost so many children." He addressed each of them in turn. "Comforting the grieving was never your strength, Father. What comfort can you offer to Nerdanel now? To any of us?" It still troubled him that he did not know why Míriel had not spoken to Fëanáro. But he would not ask, yet. They knew he didn’t know – they would tell him when they were ready, and not before. "Maglor is lost to all of us…lost to the land of the living, where I may never go again." He rolled that thought around in his mind. It still did not fill him with regret, which he thought odd. The dead were supposed to crave their lives, and yet he was content to remain here. "Was it worth it, dear brother? Cheating death and enduring the pain? Do you regret not following me here?" The pillow did not respond, and Maedhros’ fingers moved on, tracing Celegorm’s shining locks. "I doubt Lord Námo will let us meet. Surely he holds me responsible for your deeds – and Curufin’s. Why was I not able to rein you in?"

His thoughts drifted back to a time when Celegorm was young, and he had been left watching his little brother. His very unruly little brother. Celegorm had not listened to anything he said, so in the end, he had to force him to obey. He restrained him, he choked him, whatever he had to do to make his brother conform to his own will. It had worked…but such disciplines are soon outgrown. They no longer feared their eldest brother in Beleriand, and after the Dagor Bragollach, they no longer respected him. His authority had faltered with the failure of the Union of Maedhros. He had failed…he no longer led. "No, Lord Námo has reason to pause and consider what you and I may say to one another. What demons still haunt you, my fair and proud brother?" He paused.

"And Caranthir, always the loner, never the follower. Why did you follow them in the end? Was it novel to have their support? Or were you just weary of following me? I led you to defeat, true, but it was not my wish to lead you to death…" He stopped. "But I did, and for that, I am sorry. I never let Celegorm assume the leadership, so it was me, always me, was it not?" He looked at the youngest, still children in this scene. "You will always be children to me, my little brothers. How many battles must one fight, how many years must one live, to grow older than an older brother? It cannot be done. I would have protected you from harm, as I tried to all my life, but I did not, did I? You, too, I led to your deaths." He threw the pillow away from him.

"What hope is there in my lonely vigil?" he cried out to the water. "Never will I be permitted to visit these elves I led to their deaths, these elves I betrayed to their Oath, my brothers…." He would have sobbed, but no tears came. He looked North once more. "Is my request vain? Will I never be reunited with my family?" The silence that filled his room did not change. "But my request is not for myself alone. I am bereft of my family, of my brothers…but so is my mother. Will you not permit Nerdanel to see her own sons? She has done nothing but succumb to grief. Surely we could….we could each visit her in turn. If I cannot see them, at least allow her. Do not deny a mother her sons. That slew her in the first place. I beg of you!" And with that, he fell down on the floor, and sobbed.

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Chapter End Notes

Why yes, the chapter title *is* from a Tom Petty song.  I know it's random, sorry.