Picking Up The Pieces by Grundy  

Mandos

Once Tindomiel had left, taking all three of her kinsmen with her, both the living and the dead, the lord of Mandos frowned.

It did not require the foresight of a Vala to know she would return.

This had not been her first visit. But previously she had contented herself with simply exploring, and occasionally engaging the fëar of the dead in conversation if they would. She had never done any harm – actually, most of the souls in his care seemed better for speaking with her.

He had not expected that she would be so bold as to attempt to remove one of them – though once she had proposed it, he had known it was within her power.

The source of that power still puzzled him. Her kin put it down to an inheritance from Luthien, but the flavor of it had nothing of his kinswoman Melian. Knowing as he did that Tindomiel had come into being in the world of California, he supposed her power was in some way tied to that strange place.

That Tindomiel had taken Ambarato Aikanaro with her was something of a relief. Namo would have returned him to life – and his brother with him – yeni ago. It had been the child’s own choice to refuse, a choice the vala was bound to respect, no matter that it affected more than just Ambarato himself.

He had every hope that Angarato would desire a swift return to living now that his stubborn younger brother had been removed from the Halls – and eventually his son, law-daughter and granddaughter would follow.

Namo had been bound to respect Ambarato’s choice. Ambarato’s strong-willed grandniece had not offered him any choice, she had simply acted.

Oddly, the Judge was certain that the youngest son of Arafinwë would not return to the Halls. He would discover enough to anchor his fëa to life with something to focus on other than his longing for the adaneth who should have been his mate.

The lord of Mandos had been far more reluctant to allow the second soul to be removed from his keeping, but Tindomiel understood what hazard she took upon herself with him, and thought it worthwhile all the same. Not that he had held any real expectation she would change her mind – the half-elven were tenacious, and in Namo’s experience, seemed to reckon danger differently than the rest of Arda. Tindomiel might not be as extreme as her sister, but she was peredhel.

He only hoped the girl did not intend to continue removing fëar on future trips – the Arafinwions were one thing, but the vast majority of the souls in his care remained there because they were not yet ready to return to life.

But she might be useful in a different way…

Mandos moved through his Halls in thought – though in truth, very few of the Children would have perceived it as moving. He did not dare draw too close to the place one particular soul had chosen to secret itself away. His longstanding problem Child.

Curufinwë Fëanaro, obdurate as he might be, had been the simplest of puzzles compared to Maeglin Lomion.

The boy had entered the Halls broken and terrified, and Namo had realized too late that his voice reminded the young one much too powerfully of the only other Vala he had ever encountered. Nor were the maiar of the Halls any less distressing to the boy after what Mairon had done to him.

Maeglin had fled his presence, and if he recognized any approach by maia or vala, he would retreat further still into the deepest parts of the Halls. Even Nienna’s gentle voice and unobstrusive attempt to draw him out only frightened him the more.

Namo had never before encountered a soul that sought to hide itself away completely, much less one that did not understand that all pain and torment of the mortal lands was now in their past. The vast majority of Melkor’s victims experienced death as a release. He had discovered to his disgust that even those poor souls who had been begotten as orc looked forward with hope and excitement to an existence better than the one death had ended.

The eldest of their kind had much to answer for, the state of Maeglin Lomion’s fëa not the least.

Maeglin had sought the darkest parts of the halls, normally scarcely inhabited – and even then, generally only briefly by the fëar of recently arrived former orcs. But they rarely lingered long, moving swiftly toward different parts of the Halls, drawn to light and company. They had no reason to return once they discovered that light no longer hurt them and the souls of their kindred did not recoil or react with fear or hate at their approach as they would have in life.

Indeed, the sojourn of former orcs in his realm was by now quite predictable, and aside from the time when they had to come to terms with whatever dark deeds they had done at their master’s bidding, as a rule quite happy. He always felt a deep satisfaction whenever he was able to release one of them, and found their joy at the prospect of new life brought him joy also.

The Children who had not ever had to endure life as orc-kind never ventured here. They found it disturbing, even frightening. Total darkness was not something they had ever known, for Varda’s stars had been created long before the Quendi awoke at Cuiviénen.

To this one battered, broken soul, that darkness was comfort – for it was solitude and concealment, the closest to safety he was capable of imagining anymore. But the Child would never heal if he remained there, nor be able to return to his kin as he ought.

Indeed, his family already were disturbed by his absence. Those within the Halls had been most upset not to be able to discover anything of him as time wore on. It had been quite uncomfortable by the end of the Second Age, with not only Maeglin’s parents, but all of his uncles, his grandfather, great-grandfather, and great-uncle demanding to know where he was. (Under any other circumstances, Thingol and Nolofinwë agreeing on anything would have been amusing, as they still cordially detested each other.)

But while it was possible that they might have been able to bring him out of his hiding place were Namo to tell them, he felt it was much more likely the boy would only flee again – and if his kin failed to draw him out, the problem would be worse than ever. He had already failed once in an attempt to bring Maeglin out of hiding.

He had hoped that perhaps the Broideress might be able to help – for Míriel Þerindë was the only one of her people to have returned to life but not to the living. She dwelt with Vairë, and knew of the fate of Indis’ great-grandson. She had agreed to speak to Maeglin, if he would hear her.

Yet even she found the darkness overpowering. Though she pressed on as bravely as her son or once husband could have, she had been able to come only close enough for Maeglin to hear her voice as a whisper from far away. That whisper had frightened him anew, and he had curled more tightly in on himself – if he had still had a hroä, the Children would have recognized his posture as the fetal position.

After that, Namo could not trust that a small herd of relatives, however well meaning, would be any help to the child. Nor did he think Maeglin would believe they were kin – after all that had been wrought on him in Angband, he was more likely to think even the voice of his own mother only another cruel trick.

“Each fëa must heal in its own way, and in its own time,” Namo told Finwë and Thingol sternly when he could avoid their questions no longer.

He suspected that the Nolofinwions subsequently remaining stubbornly in the Halls long after they might have returned to life was some oblique form of protest.

He had finally persuaded Nolofinwë to have pity on his wife Anairë, and to think on the fact that the time was approaching when the last of his surviving elven descendants would arrive from Endórë. Turukano’s wife Elenwë had been restored to life at the beginning of the Third Age, and his father’s departure made him restless – to the point that his older brother and sister had both told him bluntly that while they had reasons to stay, he did not. The prospect of the imminent arrival of his grandson’s son and grandchildren had been enough incentive for Turukano to finally give in.

His siblings kept their vigil. But Tindomiel, while too refreshingly honest to truly be termed ‘devious’, had multiple goals on this last visit – and Namo, had he not needed to focus on sternness to impress on her the seriousness of removing a son of Fëanor from the Halls, would have commended her thinking in bringing Nolofinwë’s youngest son with her that his older brothers might see him.

Only Findekano had spoken with him, but that would likely be enough. Namo had every hope he would soon be rid of Arakano. Findekano would consent to leave once he knew that Nelyafinwë would also be permitted to return – assurance Namo could not yet give with certainty, but had not much longer to wait on. A mortal lifetime fast rushing to a close was but a short time…

Irissë would leave if he son did. Again, it came back to the problem of Maeglin.

Tindomiel might be just the person to solve it. Unlike other Eldar, she could bring light with her to the parts of the Halls where Maeglin hid – light, and warmth, and the sound of something that was clearly not Angband, for her fëa sang of things Melkor and his creatures had not known and even Mairon had never dreamed. The light of another sun, the girl had called it the first time they met, when Namo had been trying to puzzle out her Music.

That, he had since come to realize, was not all of it, but it was explanation enough.

After three ages of Arda, a few years should have made no difference one way or the other, yet having finally found a real prospect for healing Maeglin, the lord of Mandos found himself nearly as impatient as a Child when Tindomiel did not swiftly return.

He did grudgingly admit that Vairë had a point when she said that Tindomiel’s kin were unlikely to let her go roaming again so quickly after having brought back Morifinwë and Ambarato. (Very grudgingly. Her amusement was wholly uncalled for.)

But when next he heard Tindomiel entering the Halls, he was prepared.

He led her a merry chase. What precisely she was chasing, Tindomiel did not know, but she knew there was something interesting, and she was curious by nature, so she followed.

It helped that there was something of a resonance between her fëa and Maeglin’s – although Namo suspected it would have been stronger between Maeglin and Anariel. (For some reason, the part of his own spirit that was his wife’s echoed with mirth at that observation. He thought it quite unfair that she would not explain.)

He finally left Tindomiel not far from where Maeglin hid. She held what looked like a ball of sunlight in her right hand – he appreciated her cleverness in redirecting just the smallest bit of the light from other parts of the Halls to where she needed it.

She was sensitive enough to know she was drawing close to another elf, and to call out.

“Hello?”

No answer, not that Namo had expected there would be one.

Tindomiel frowned.

“Who are you? Why are you down here all alone in the dark?”

Maeglin still kept silent, but he listened. Namo himself kept a safe distance, determined not to spook the child.

“I don’t know why you’re stashed away all by yourself, but I know you’re not Fëanor, so you can’t have done anything bad enough to deserve solitary.”

The silence continued, but it was an interested silence.

“And I know that because I’ve visited him.”

She not only visited her grandmother’s half-uncle, she grilled, mocked, and teased him mercilessly – and had consequently learned enough Quenya, Vanyarin, and even Valarin curses that if Fëanaro were ever permitted to leave the Halls, his law-sister Anairë would likely have his guts for garters.

Namo thought it odd that angry as the girl made him, Fëanaro seemed more cheerful after each visit.

“You don’t have to stay down here, you know.”

Motion!

For the first time in an Age, Maeglin had moved. Had he been Tindomiel, Namo would have pumped his fist in the air.

A sigh – but Tindomiel’s.

“You can stay if you want, I guess. I’m not going to make you do anything. But you’d probably feel better if you would move somewhere more normal. You should go up where it’s not so dark.”

Tindomiel’s choice of ‘down’ and ‘up’ to describe the different regions of the Halls was not in any sense physically accurate, but as normal directions didn’t really apply, they would do.

“There are lots of other elves here you could talk to. If there’s someone you don’t want to see, you can avoid them. There’s so many Evair and Lainin that it’s not hard to stay away from the Golodhrim if they still scare you.”

It helped that the girl had instinctively switched to an older Sindarin, the dialect of Doriath. Maeglin seemed to relax the more of it he heard, for it was the language of his youth.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way here again. But I’ll leave something for you to follow if you decide you want to come out later.”

Tindomiel pressed her hand to the nearest wall, and it glowed green – with her finger pointing the way to the lighter part of the Halls.

She stopped several times to repeat the gesture as she retraced her steps, unaware it was not necessary, for Maeglin was following. Silently, and at a safe distance, but following.

The last time she stopped, it wasn’t a handprint she left, but words and arrows pointing the directions to the areas where the Unwilling and the ones who had been orcs tended to congregate.

Then she made her way toward her own kin, to make her somewhat delayed visit.

If Namo had hoped that Maeglin would begin to interact with other elves, he was disappointed, for the young one once again found a place to hide away – but this time, a light, airy chamber where he could hear others moving around, and from whence he sometimes observed them with signs of something that might be curiosity.

Maeglin did not always cross paths with Tindomiel when she visited over the next decade or so, but it happened more often than not, something seemingly drawing him to her. Each time he came a little closer.

If Maeglin spoke to anyone, it would be her, Namo realized.

And then something new occurred to him. Perhaps this soul, after all that had been done to him at the hands of a vala and a maia, could not heal within the Halls.

It was something he had never considered before, but then, what had befallen Maeglin had also never occurred before. Others before him had been tortured, and had their will overpowered by Melkor or Mairon, but never before had one of them taken possession of the hröa of a Child, leaving the fëa intact but vanquished and powerless – or deceived a Child at the moment of death into believing he was not dying.

It required some thought before Namo understood how to handle this most delicate of cases, but at last he hit on a plan.

He could not return the boy to life in the usual way. That would most likely do further harm, for the presence of Irmo and his maiar would only throw him into panic, and even if they were to call some of his kin to his side, he would not trust their reality.

No, this had to be handled very carefully, for it would require Maeglin himself to make the decision to leave.

The next time Tindomiel visited, when Maeglin lingered expectantly in the spacious atrium that Tindomiel usually used as her entrance and exit, Namo was waiting also. (There was no particular reason for Tindomiel’s preferred ‘door’– she could come and go as she pleased, but seemed to feel it more polite to use a public area. Namo was grateful that she had never attempted to enter through the gate the Rehoused were led through to leave the Halls on their return to life.)

Maeglin looked so wistfully at her as she passed through on the way to visit the Arafinwions – still in the hopes of persuading Finduilas that no one held anything against her at all – that Namo was certain of what he would do.

When Tindomiel returned, calling cheerful greetings to some of the dead she recognized, and left the Halls from her usual spot, Mandos held her door open after she departed – but only for one fëa.

Maeglin was the only one who could see the sunlight, hear the birds, and almost feel the breeze. Namo waited. It was only when he finally, with a sigh, made himself obvious to undo the work of constructing that gate – for his power over his walls was not quite the same as Tindomiel’s, and while preserving her work was no great matter, undoing it took some concentration – that Maeglin, with an air of desperation, darted past him and into his new life.

As he rebuilt his wall – with the sudden foresight that Tindomiel would likely not be visiting again for some time – Namo, for the first time in many years, smiled.