Of Maitimo the Tall: Part One.

(Disclaimer: The characters, world and timeline in which this story is set belong to Tolkien. Only the interpretation of events and any mistakes are mine. )

“But Maedhros restrained his brothers ..”

(‘Of the Return of the Noldor’. The Silmarillion. J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited C. Tolkien. page 127)

Neldormindo. The first house of Curufinwë Fëanáro. Seventh Age

Maitimo the tall – taller even than his father; than any of the noble descendents of Finwë was he. Maitimo the strong - the born leader, the fiery in spirit - but our eldest son inherited much from me, as well as from his sire. Far more than his colouring of hair was my kin gift to him; I bequeathed by both blood and example a measure of wisdom beyond that which I gave to any of my sons - even Makalaurë - and the will to restrain the excess fire that could burn in the hearts of his younger brothers. Oft did he act in union with me to the good of all our family, that he sought to bring wisdom to his brothers’ rashness, even as I sought to restrain Fëanáro when the fires of his heart burned too hot.

We achieved much when we worked as one - that glorious, copper-brown haired son and I. We could cool the red hot metal of the others’ moods and temper it that it could be forged into a thing of creative power and beauty, rather than become a destructive conflagration.

But his father took him from me – he and all his brothers. His father gave cause for him to become a murderer – a kinslayer, many times over. Long since did Maitimo of the White Flame perish in the lands beyond the Great Sea – yet do I ponder that the Maitimo I knew perished in the Long Night, at Alqualondë, at the place he was first brought into being.

And I have missed him through the ages! On days like these - in this house of Neldormindo where my firstborn once dwelt and studied - I miss him so much. So do I now turn to record my memory of our last encounter – he and I, and also of some small matters that come to my mind concerning his birth and first year of life. In such recollections may I continue to find balm for my sorrow.

- - - - - - -

How can a mother say farewell to her children, knowing that, in all probability, she will not see them again? What are the right words for such a parting: “Namarië”? It does not suffice!

My sons, born of the Blessed Realm, were to be led by their father to carry war and vengeance against Moringotho, to turn their backs upon Aman, to set as naught the love and care of the Valar. Despite my best efforts, I had been unable to alter Fëanáro’s determined course of action in any way; neither had I managed to persuade him to leave even one of our children with me – not even out of compassion for she whom he had loved so well. I knew that I had lost them all.

Was it in my mind that, in time, I would seek to follow them? That I would follow him, even as my estranged husband had said I would? Nay! If with any conscience I could have gone with my family, I would have done so at that time. Was I not aghast at the destruction of the Trees? Did I not grieve for the murder of King Finwë and for the destruction wrought at Formenos? Did I not then want vengeance as much as almost any other? I knew that Finwë and the Silmarils were dear beyond words to Fëanáro, and I abhorred Moringotho for what he had done to us all through his plan for vengeance. Particularly did I hate that Dark Enemy for what he had done to poison my husband’s heart with his lies. But I would not rebel against the Valar; I would not act in accordance with the Marrrer, for in so doing would I become a tool of the Enemy himself. Nor would I betray Aulë; an oath I also had made, and to that did I needs must hold.

“And what of the oath that thou didst make unto me on the day we were wed? Hast thou forgotten that solemn promise in thy loyalty to those who would keep us as thrall? Though it take many hundred years, yet in the end wilt thou remember thy promise to me with no small sorrow - wilt thou remember who and what thou art, lady!” had Fëanáro said to me in that, our final meeting.

A reminder of Námo Mandos’ words to him at the time of his first exile was he making. A reminder that he considered me the one deceived - the one disloyal.

“Though thou doest choose freely to desert me at need and for a second time, thou wilt follow me, and our sons. For in thy heart thou knowest where thy loyalty should lie, even as thou didst know in thy seeking of me at Formenos. Once thou doest perceive the cloud of half-truths with which Aulë has cozened thee and thy kin for what they are, thou, too, will attempt to follow. Aye, and mayhap I will be of a mood to heed thee when thou dost truly recall what it is to be my wife, instead of a stranger!”

Harsh words we both spoke on that day, Fëanáro and I. Words born of unbearable grief - of anger, and of thwarted hopes. But of that event I will write in due course.

Alas – that I failed Fëanáro in his darkest trial, and through that failure doomed all of our children.

- - - - -

In desperate urgency I had sought to find our sons before the host left Tirion. Carnistir and Curvo I had spoken with before I left the house, although Carnistir had parted from me in the vain hope I would be travelling with them all.

Curvo was never so easily deceived.

Yet five more sons were there that my heart drove me on to find, to encounter one last time before the sundering that was, by then, unavoidable. Difficult it was however, for the darkness still seemed to have hold on hearts and on minds, draining all life and will into itself. My own heart was empty of light, my feet weighed as if with a chain forged of the essence of the abomination. But I was determined; I would endure the foul night as best I could to offer whatever blessings possible to those I so feared for.

To say ‘farewell’ was my wish, not to try further to dissuade any from leaving. I knew after my words with Fëanáro that nothing I could say to my family would deter them. What could I have said that they had not already heard? How could I have reached Carnistir, devoted to me though he was, when Turindë was most likely to accompany him? In what manner could I have implored Curvo that Nolwen had not already tried? Even Makalaurë, even he had heeded not the plea for wisdom from his lady wife!

Nay, always first to them, always their bright flame was their father. In that time of the greatest darkness and despair to him alone did they look for light. That, I understood. Was it not in my own heart to look to him for a way forward? But by then I knew him half mad with grief that he thought with little clarity – rather, with a consuming hatred to the fore of his mind. None could turn him from what he purposed to do - but it was his will to purpose us all to follow him! If only he had trusted still in the Valar to wait upon their reaction. If only his grief and anger had not driven him into folly beyond measure, into adding to Arda Marred.

I remember coming upon Maitimo leaving our house for the final time. Striding across the narrow bridge that spanned the waterfalls and heading towards the main steps was he, sword at his side, ill-lit red cloak and copper-brown hair flying back in his hurry. A great sense of purpose he had, being commissioned by Fëanáro, (as my husband had earlier told me), to order the ranks of those still loyal to our House. Maitimo would do exactly as his father and king had commanded – would also keep watch on those lords of Nolofinwë who could yet cause further dissention. For our eldest son, who had felt most keenly the anguish of not being able to prevent the death of his grandsire at Formenos, neither prevent the theft of the Silmarils in his father’s absence; the focus of action would have been most welcome.

He saw me at once and drew close, pushing his way through a gathering group of soon–to-be-travellers, sweeping me a low and most elegant bow of acknowledgement. But his brilliant, expressive eyes held much sorrow.

“I understand thy decision, lady and mother; though with all my heart do I wish thou hads’t chosen otherwise and were yet coming with us.”

There was no time for pleasantries, no time for discussion.

“Look after them, Maitimo!” had I uttered with all the dignity left to me.

I lightly kissed his cheek, but then made to step back, not wishing to act in any manner that would dishonour him before those he must command, or to distress him further.

“Look after thy brothers, dearest one; aye and thy father, if it be possible.”

I noted the pained expression on his face. Maitimo alone of our sons knew the fullness of grief that had lain between his father and myself. He knew of my hopes for the festival, which had ended not with the darkness, but with Fëanáro's open call for rebellion – with his oath. He knew this parting from husband; children and grandchild would break what was left of my heart.

The flickering light of passing torches, held aloft by those whose desire for new things and strange countries had been fired by the fierce and stirring words of my husband, made strange, blood red shadows upon my son’s face and hair; made him look in some manner already dead to me. Almost as a dream it was; one from which I hoped to soon awaken. But there was to be no awakening for me from that long night. Not then - in some ways not ever!

My son simply nodded acknowledgement of my plea. “Will I not do all I that can! Farewell, dearest mother.” And then was the urgency of the situation, the crowd of those hurrying past us towards the stairs to the main gate, full upon him. “Sorry am I. Sorry that I must do this thing; but I will not fail my father again."

Must do? Yet I nodded in turn – that as ever, I understood him.

“Until our next meeting,” Maitimo whispered, holding my eyes for a moment longer as if fixing that moment in his mind. I realised from the rasp of his voice that he thought I would not long endure this separation in hröa. He raised his right hand briefly in a gesture of blessing upon me however, and I did likewise. With those wistful words my eldest son, my beautiful one, departed my presence forever.

- - - - - -

Maitimo the Tall….

My firstborn …..

My beautiful one…….

Now it came to pass in those days in which Nolofinwë first paid court to the Lady Anairë, eldest daughter of Lord Essilon, that my husband began to speak with me in earnest of his wish for us to bring forth a child.

Still very young were we – yet would I not have done all in my power to please him, then, or even earlier had he asked of me. All that was required was the union of love with intent – the will of Eru – and naught would prevent us from becoming parents. But whenever we spoke of such undertaking there was a hint of hesitation; the darkening of Fëanáro’s countenance that he recalled his mother’s doom. So although my lord’s words were indeed earnest - and I made clear my own enthusiasm for the joint work he proposed – yet did he who was ever most eager, delay.

Then came the day when he found me seated under the apple tree upon the lower terrace of our newly built home in Tirion, and I considering the plans of the Aulenduri of the city to make a road to Alqualondë, that the journey between the cities of the Noldor and the Teleri be traversed more swiftly when desired. Onónon, my father sister’s husband and first instructor of Fëanáro in smith craft had asked me if I would ride with him to speak with King Olwë of the final stages of planning. As an Aulendur myself, a princess of the Noldor and daughter of their Master Smith, my presence would be warmly welcomed and my words well heeded.

But I was not to ride with Onónon.

I noticed the instant he approached the upper terrace that Fëanáro was in no good humour. His very presence put forth an air of discontent.

“Then will I be called upon a whim into the presence of the Lord Silwë? I say to you I am my own master, and will answer not to him!” My husband was addressing a messenger of the said ‘Lord Silwë’, who had followed him from the house.

The messenger made a bow of deference, “As you instruct, Prince Curufinwë,” and departed swiftly.

Ai! The Lord Silwë, steward of the king, never failed to bring out the more challenging side of my husband’s nature.

So I thought it wisdom to listen to Fëanáro, to encourage him to speak with me if he would, before I asked his leave to travel to the coast. He descended the steps to the lower terrace, then came to stand in the gold dappled shade of the apple tree, arms folded across his chest, his expression beset with agitation.

“My lord?” I looked up at him purposefully; seeking to encourage him to confide in me of his troubles sooner rather than later – for so to do was surely his intent.

He gave me no reply that I was concerned least he brood overlong upon whatever ailed him. So I spread out the skirt of my gown, and made gesture that he should lie on the grass - should rest his head upon my lap as he was want to do on those occasions he desired stillness to contemplate. But he shook his head.

“Finwion – wilt thou not share with me that which grieves thee this day?” As a gentle caress I made my question – gentle, yet with a hint of stubborn insistence.

“No help canst thou give me on this matter, Nerdanel. I must think upon it further.”

“Mayhap I cannot help thee, but what sort of wife would I be if I sought not to try?” I persisted. “Beloved – tell me what is the cause of thy pain?”

He sighed deeply, but there was a hint of sparkle again in his eyes, that they were no longer narrowed in temper.

“First before my father nigh every day is my half-brother - in discussion, in counsel, in requests. I will not have him first with a grandchild,” he said bluntly.

So did I know the desire to be a father was at the root of his mood – for there was no hint of a thought of Nolofinwë siring a child in the near future. Yet something had given cause for my lord to think thus?

“That is unlikely, beloved. Findis may yet wed, and bear a child before her brother. And neither she nor Nolofinwë are even betrothed.”

“Findis will wed later in years, if she weds at all,” Fëanáro replied, (showing a greater understanding of his half-sister than I had hitherto realised.) “But my father has this day told me my half-brother is so enamoured that he seeks to be betrothed to that most pious daughter of Essilon within the year!”

Upon hearing that news I understood well the situation, and Fëanáro’s concerns. No need was there for him to say more. Betrothals could, unlike our own, be of only a year’s duration, and most couples brought forth their first child within a short space of time after their wedding.

‘So be it!’ thought I in turn – but Nolofinwë, for whom I had much admiration, could not be permitted to perturb my husband and distract him from his studies. In that moment I recalled with great clarity the words Yavanna had spoken to me before I was betrothed. It was as if sudden foresight came upon me, that I beheld many lights of flame taking form in living hröar. In that moment I finally decided upon the immediate course of my life, and that I would soon speak with Fëanáro of that which would put an end to his conflict of desires.

Again I made gesture that my lord should sit with me in the cool of the trees to take rest, and ponder and discuss as he wished. He sighed knowingly, well familiar by then with my ploys to calm his restlessness. But he did as I asked. And as he laid his head upon my lap, I spoke to him of Onónon’s plan for Alqualondë in a manner that would give him some temporary diversion for his thoughts. Rarely could he resist making comment for improvement upon the designs of his former tutor; or on the plans of my father, for that matter! That time was no exception.

By the second mingling of the lights of that day Fëanáro and I – rather than Onónon and I - had departed Tirion, and were heading east along the Calacirya to make visit with King Olwë. So it was I had decided that upon that visit, and away from all thought of Nolofinwë, we would conceive our longed for child.

- - - - - -

Maitimo / Nelyafinwë - Maedhros

Makalaurë - Maglor

Namarië - Farewell

Moringotho - Morgoth / Melkor

Curvo - Curufin

Carnistir – Caranthir

(Notes: I am using information from an obscure reference in HoME 12, ‘Of Dwarves and Men’; note 7, that says after a discussion on Celebrimbor, that Maedhros appears to have been unwedded, also the twins. Celegorm was unwedded, as he plotted to take Lúthien as his wife. But Curufin was wedded, and had a son who went with him into exile, though his wife did not. Others who were wedded were Maelor ( Maglor?) and Caranthir.

Regarding the timing for the birth of children, I am using the reference in HoME 10 – Laws and Customs amongst the Eldar – which says: “But at whatever age they married, their children were born within a short space of years after their wedding.” And the added footnote: “Short as Eldar reckoned time.”