FAULT: The Doctor Is In

A birthday mathom from me for all my friends. Enjoy!

SUMMARY: Námo gets a little help in handling some of his more obstreperous charges.

WARNING: No food or drink should be permitted anywhere near the computer while reading this.

MEFA 2008: Second Place: Humor (Valar & Maiar)

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Námo, Lord of Mandos, stood unseen by the other inhabitants of the room, watching the proceedings with interest. He had been a little leery about this, but Atar thought it might help, so he had agreed. Now, however, he wondered if maybe even Atar’s optimism might not be a bit misplaced.

"Ammë always loved you best!"

That was Morifinwë, otherwise known to his kin and to history as Caranthir, screaming at Nelyafinwë, otherwise known as Maedhros. Caranthir, Námo mused, shaking his head, was the surly one, the harshest of all the sons of Fëanor, and the quickest to anger. He wasn’t above manipulating and lying and cheating and... well, to tell the truth, they were all like that to one degree or another.

The object of Caranthir’s vituperation snarled at him. "And you’re a sniveling little whiner."

"Herr Maitimo," came the guttural voice of the facilitator, sounding more like a Dwarf than a Human. "We do not call each other names here, remember? And your hand, Mein Herr, let’s not forget your hand."

Maedhros stared at the stump where his right hand should be, which he had been shaking at Caranthir as if making a fist — a rather phantom fist. Even here in Mandos his fëa couldn’t seem to remember his right hand. Lord Námo assured him, however, that if he were ever re-embodied — fat chance of that ever happening! — he would be given his right hand back. "Ah, sorry. I forgot." He whipped his right arm behind him, suddenly feeling ashamed for some reason.

Doctor Sigmund Freud turned his all-knowing eyes on Caranthir. "And why do you think, Herr Morifinwë, that your... er... ammë loved your brother best?"

Caranthir stared at the Mortal in disbelief. "Are you jesting? Because he was born first, that’s why!"

"It’s not as if I actually planned it!" Maedhros screamed back, suddenly wanting very much to strangle his stupid little git of a brother. Hah! He had no respect for any of them. Whiners and losers all of them. Except mayhap Macalaurë, he amended to himself. Macalaurë was the best and noblest of them all. He had no trouble admitting that to himself, though he would die several times over before he told anyone, including the stupid Human who was moderating this fiasco. Honestly, what was Lord Námo trying to do, torture them? As if listening to his brothers whine for all eternity wasn’t torture enough.

"Well, I didn’t plan to be born last, but I was," Amras complained. "Atto even named me Telefinwë to underscore the point."

Maedhros couldn’t help smirk. "Actually Ammë told Atto that you and Amrod were absolutely the last. She threatened to pull a Míriel on him if he touched her one more time."

The twins exhibited identical expressions of horror and shock. Then, in a flash, they were on their eldest brother. "You take that back! You take that back, Nelli!" the youngest son of Fëanor screamed.

"It’s not our fault Ammë wouldn’t let Atto near her after we were born," his twin yelled at the same time.

"No wonder Atto was always in a bad mood," Curufinwë, also called Curufin, said with a laugh. "Now we know who to blame."

Turcafinwë, known to history as Celegorm, smirked while egging his twin brothers on. Caranthir started after the Human, suddenly tired of the miserable Mortal telling him how he loved his Ammë and hated his Atto, when it was clear as a Silmaril to anyone with half a brain that it was the other way around.

Maedhros was hard-pressed to defend himself with only one hand, but he was doing a damn good job, having had lots of practice over the nearly six hundred years in Middle-earth of putting up with his younger siblings.

"Boys! Boys! Stop this at once!" Sigmund Freud admonished them, even as he dodged Caranthir’s attempt to grab him.

Suddenly, several Maiar appeared, casually pulling the unruly Children off one another. Two of them were holding onto the twins, while three had to wrestle Maedhros into submission. Caranthir found himself hanging in midair, a Maia holding him by the scruff of his neck and shaking him. Others simply stood before Celegorm and Curufin with looks that said quite clearly, "Go ahead. Make our millennium."

Maedhros pulled himself just far enough out of the Maiar’s hold to get to his feet, his expression livid. "And another thing — DON’T CALL ME NELLI!"

"I think that will be all for the day," the good doctor declared and with a nod of his head indicated to the Maiar that they were free to return their charges to their cells. No sleeping chambers for these fëar; they had all refused Judgment and Námo obliged them by locking them up. "In the same wing of Mandos in which I once threw Melkor," he’d told them with some pique. None of them, except perhaps the twins, had faltered at that, but even they, in the end had decided they weren’t going to face Judgment until their Atar did and Námo knew that wouldn’t happen for a very long time.

The Maiar all bowed to the Human, which rankled the Elves, since no one ever bowed to them, not anymore, and then simply disappeared with their charges. Námo stepped forward then, making his presence known and Sigmund Freud gave the Vala his obeisance.

"That ended well," Námo couldn’t help saying with a sarcastic smirk.

"Ah! But Mein Herr Námo, it ended very well indeed. We are making progress!"

Námo stared at the Human in amazement. "You call that progress?"

"Natürlich!" the former Austrian Father of Psychoanalysis exclaimed, rubbing his hands together in glee. "It is the first time the twins have spoken since we started these little sessions."

Námo gave him a dubious smile. "If you say so, Sigmund. But don’t you want to continue on to the Presence? You know you cannot remain within the Circles of Arda forever."

"Ach! How can I leave now, Mein Herr?" Sigmund Freud replied, shaking his head in dismay. "Diesen Armen Elben, they need me. It amazes me that such a dysfunctional family ever survived long enough to get themselves killed the way they did. I would have thought they would all end up killing each other, instead."

Námo gave him a mirthless chuckle. "There were times when my brother Irmo and I laid bets on who would be the first to commit fratricide. Luckily for them, it never happened. Their Oaths were terrible enough without making it worse."

"Yes, yes, the Oath," Sigmund said with a sad shake of his head. "A terrible thing indeed."

Deciding to change the subject, Námo smiled at the Human and put his arm around his shoulders, gesturing for him to follow the Vala out. They walked down a dimly lit corridor towards the area of Mandos reserved for Mortals. "Well, Sigmund. I’ve had my doubts as to the efficacy of these sessions, but Atar insists, and so I allow them, for all the good they do."

Sigmund cast a knowing glance at the Vala walking beside him. "I notice, Mein Herr, that you always speak of your Atar, but never your Mutter. May I ask why?"

Námo stopped and gave the Human a surprised look. "But I have no mother!"

"Ah, very interesting, Mein Herr," Sigmund replied with a gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps we should discuss this further. When did you first decide that you had no Mutter, hmmm?"......

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Cast of Elvish Characters: (*) indicates the person still lives, all others are dead. Besides their Sindarin names, I give their various Quenya names — father-name (with translation), mother-name and nickname, respectively.

Maedhros: Nelyafinwë "Third Finwë": Maitimo: Nelyo

*Maglor: Canafinwë "Commanding Finwë": Macalaurë: Cáno

Celegorm: Turcafinwë: "Strong Finwë": Tyelcormo: Turco

Caranthir: Morifinwë "Dark Finwë": Carnisitir: Moryo

Curufin: Curufinwë "Crafty Finwë": Atarincë: Curvo

Amrod: Pityafinwë "Little Finwë": Ambarto: Pityo

Amras: Telefinwë "Last Finwë": Ambarussa: Telvo

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Ammë: (Quenya) Hyporcoristic form of Amillë: Mother.

Atto: (Quenya) Hyporcoristic form of Atar: Father.

Mein Herr: (German) My lord.

Natürlich: (German) Naturally.

Diesen Armen Elben: (German) These poor Elves.

Mutter: (German) Mother.