Feanor heard the soft words but did not stir, accustomed as he was to his wife's visions and dreams that were so akin to his own. He merely sighed into her hair. Nerdanel blinked, but Maitimo, her eldest, remained. The apparition did not disappear; instead, it seemed to reach out a hand to her. Nerdanel raised her head, the high color on her face forming a stark contrast with her pale brow. Maitimo could see the creases of Feanor's shirt on her right cheek.
He found his voice. He cried: "Mother," but an importunate zypher took it. "Mother." He tried louder. This time, it carried.
Nerdanel stared at him incredulously.
"Feanaro, wake up!" She said to her husband, "Maitimo is right outside our window! He is here!"
Feanor turned his head. He had been considering Maitimo's voice. However, at the sight of his son, first an incredible expression took his face, followed quickly by something indiscernible. He sat up quickly, opened his mouth then apparently changed his mind for he almost tore out of the room.
Nerdanel did not seem to care; she beckoned her son to climb through the windows. Slightly hesitant, Maedhros hoisted himself onto the windowsill, happy finding his strength intact.
He walked to the bed and embraced his mother, who laughed merrily as his arms encircled her.
"You have grown, Maitimo." She remarked, gazing at him with evident satisfaction in her eyes.
"Grown?" Maedhros asked, whilst his eye strayed to the empty doorway.
"Yes, grown." His mother answered, "Long and hard your years must have been in Arda Marred, though your hroar is likened to when you were young, your eyes, my son, they.." She touched his face and suddenly stopped speaking.
"I can't help it," Maedhros said softly, "Please don't cry, I don't blame anyone other then the doom appointed to us."
"No, not anymore," Nerdanel said smiling, absently patting her son on the head, though her eyes shimmered with imminent tears, "There shall only be here tears of happiness, now that all my sons are among the living. However, it is probably for the best that you leave him for now. He had been through this more times than I thought would be possible. I will talk to him."
"But.." Then suddenly something in her words became clear, "My brothers?"
"All except Makalaure," A brief shadow passed her face, "King Finwe's sons and grandsons have all returned, your cousin Fingon also. By the grace of the Vala and the appeals of Aule." Maedhros was confused: "I thought." Suddenly Nerdanel laughed, her voice like a musical waterfall, "But I shall not keep you longer, your brothers are all by that old field, hunting, I expect. They raided the kitchens before they left last night, doubtless you would be hungry."
"I..how" Maedhros started to say he was actually not but the look in his mother's eyes was clearly a sign that he should take his leave. "Good morning, it is good to see you again after all this time." He said, embracing his mother again.
"You will drive him over the brink, Maitimos, I promise that it would be alright, leave him be for now." She confided in his ear before letting him go.
As Maitimos graceful figure left the room, Nerdanel's brow furrowed. She rued her dismissal; nevertheless, it would be too dangerous for him to confront Feanor for now, as he would. Nerdanel had seen something in his eyes that worried her, a deep unappeased pain and anguish almost wholly concealed beneath overlays of momentary joys; it resembled overmuch of the youth who courted her against her father's wishes. Yet, even more disquieting, and terrible was the fact that it seemed that the light in Maitimos' eyes was forcefully quenched.
Oh Feanor..she reflected unhappily as she dressed, they had released you to make the Spirit of Fire see beyond his own bright flames, yet you would not, or could not face your eldest after all. And I, should I counsel you, and hope, once more, that you would listen to me when the affairs concerned are matters of your own heart or should I let you come to terms gradually? Nevertheless, I am his mother and…
"You are a proud craftsman, and you should be, Curufinwe, yet you have no right to craft and to bend to your will the fea which Iluvatar has given, especially not of your own son by denying his due." Nerdanel's voice seemed almost vengeful, "Surely you know that by now."
She found him, perched upon the tree by the stream beside the fringe of the forest. She knew that he would be here as his wont when desperate, waiting for her to come.
Feanor started, Nerdanel seldom called him Curufinwe except when she was especially displeased.
"I could not say anything. What could I say? He is unlike his brothers, he is our firstborn, he is you and I in the strength of our youth and I could not face him when my dreams still haunt me." His voice drifted down, as mellifluous as ever, though fierce.
She was now sitting right underneath from him, fingering a blade of long grass in her hand. Nerdanel felt a strange urge to abandon him after those words. She came to give him counsel, but now had trouble controlling her own ire.
"So the inventor of Feanorian tengwar could not even manage one word, and yet contrived excuses?" She said without looking up. An undercurrent of seething anger marked her tones, almost too alike of the one she used before leaving him some ages past.
Once upon a time, he would have ignored her, allowing time for both to simmer down. He returned to a hostile people, formerly his own, and she remained the only one who could truly understand what consumed him. She had not seemed so infuriated ever since he finally convinced her that... Feanor decided that the situation would be less averse if they were on more even grounds. He came down and kneeled in front of her.
"Did you really think that a single apology would really compensate for everything, everything I caused him?" He dropped his gaze to his hands, as beautiful, and as skillful as ever, hands too skillful for anyone's good perhaps.
"Maedhros lost you, but the oath remained. Though returned from the dead, he remembers all too well the sufferings in his past. He sought for your approval his whole life, but he had lived beyond anything you experienced, and saw the madness of your ways, and that is what he remembers."
"What would you have me do?" Feanor asked, and sought for his wife's blue eyes with his grey.
She continued to play with the stem of grass, shaping it into a ship, there was a silence between them for a short while.
"Apologize, say something, say anything to reassure him. No amount sorrow for your deeds can account for the wrongs you did, yet he must at least know that you are the one who is guilty," Nerdanel finally said, her voice strangely hard, "You know as well as I do the reason that Maitimo lingered the longest in Mando's Halls among all our sons. His guilt runs deeper. It is for both Aqualonde and your ridiculous oath. He feels he has failed you, yet at the same time, he is angry, even worse, ashamed at being angry. Did you see his eyes, they are suppose to be of joy, and full of life, instead I see apprehension, pain, and something almost hatred, and lest you wish the sundering of your house you will beg your forgiveness from him if indeed it comes to it." She finished vehemently, the blue fire in her eyes boring into his.
Feanor had been expecting this, and now she had spoken"The pain of humiliation is still mine though." He told her, trying to reach for her fair hands that seemed to be purposely eluding him. To his surprise, Nerdanel smiled, "Humiliation, Feanor?" She cried, "Really, you assume too much. Whose work graces the heavens and who would dare to humiliate the High Prince of the Noldor? Do not be harsh or use the high tone with Maitimo when you speak," She cautioned him, though her voice softened, "He is neither Tyelkormo nor Atarinkë, and more like you than you would both admit! Come," She put her hand in his, while her other hand placed the grass ship in the water, "I will go with you, and everything shall be as it should, our family one step closer in being reunited."
Feanor remained pensive; however, he took her hand and brought it to his lips, "As it will be soon." He said before kissing it.
AN: It shall be a series; therefore, Gimli and Legolas belong in their own story after this.