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Nelyafinwë Maitimo was still small and full of questions when he learned of the political implications of his father name. Previously he had thought it meant that he is the third member of his family (“Who is this at my gates?” would ask grandpa Finwë every time. “Oh, it can’t be! Curufinwë, Nerdanel and little Nelyo, be welcomed!) as it was not the case Maitimo immediately decided he didn’t like it and that he would only use his mother name.
It was later when he was teenager, when he overheard nobles discussing him being a bit of an airhead. Apparently, the questions Maitimo asked grandfather of the court workings and gossip, and why some of the gossip qualified for gossip at all for it was rude to pry in the matter as far Maitimo was concerned, were thought to be a bit stupid by the nobles. (Maitimo was rarely at court and couldn't learn those basic for the nobles things by observation as most did.) This was also around the time when older nisi had stopped cooing at his round cheeks and started planning to marry off their daughters to him. Maitimo valiantly tried to avoid both the mothers and daughters in question but avoid them all he could not.
“Prince Nelyafinwë!” exclaimed a usually dour lady who Nerdanel hated with passion, the fake cheer stood wrong on her. Her daughter, a not bad looking nis who was comfortably close to his age, trailed dutifully. How unfortunate that Maitimo knew this nis found babies disgusting despite little Makalaurë being the cutest baby he had ever held. “It is great to see you again, your highness, have I introduced you to my daughter, Hereniel?”
She had. Still Maitimo politely bowed not wanting to kiss Hereniel’s hand and encourage this farce.
“I think you two will have a splendid time together!” declared the mother.
“Oh,” blurted Maitimo the first thing that came to his mind, “Does lady Hereniel like The Discovery of Beauty: Flowers of Northwest Valinor too? I’ve been looking for someone to discuss what luinyellë could possibly look like. ”
“What?” stuttered the lady.
“Attar promised me I can commission a portrait of myself in a flower field!” Maitimo smiled bashfully. “I must know which flowers would look the best with me on the canvas!”
He was left by the pair as soon as it was politely of them to do so.
A bit stupid but very pretty, Maitimo thought, I can work with that.
~***~
By the time most of his brothers and cousins were born Maitimo had built successfully his image as a very pretty if a bit too vain nér who understood social interactions and the importance of succession not at all unless it was related to his looks. Even his uncle, Nolofinwë, had fallen into the web of lies and Maitimo often gleefully maneuvered him into corners that would have been easily avoided if Nolofinwë didn’t think him stupid.
Maitimo’s brothers and cousins also liked to think they were smarter and thus, liking him, always shared with him all of their daring plans of bubbling teenage rebellion unaware Maitimo used all that information to watch over them and, in many cases that required it, snitch on them to their parents. He didn’t even have to hide it had been him who told the parents as cousins and brothers thought him gullible as a newborn puppy and only cursed themselves for not remembering not to tell their older cousin or to, at least, make him promise to keep it secret after telling him. That of course didn’t stop them from making the same mistake again – Maitimo had the best sense of style and eye for detail no matter the occasion and if they swore him in secrecy he wouldn’t tell, right?
(He would. If it was dangerous thing they had planned and he couldn’t sneakily dissuade them with the blackmail they didn’t realize he had been collecting.)
Even when they were on the brink of a civil war because of attar and uncle Nolofinwë’s feud, Maitimo being beautiful but stupid was tolerated by the whole family although he was, as usual, not always listened to.
“Why are you arguing so much?” Maitimo had asked attar and uncle Nolofinwë separately on multiple occasions blinking slowly as if confused. “Grandfather loves you both.”
It had not had the desirable effect of them realizing they were being actually really stupid and stopping. He had learned of the many nonsense reason they hated each other for and some new rude words he had been made to promise not to repeat to the other party. Things had escalated. After his father was banished, Maitimo got Curufinwë, his brother, to make a crown for uncle Nolofinwë to lessen the political fallout. Not that he told Curvo the real reason, no, Maitimo had claimed to have overheard that one of the best smiths of the Noldor would make Nolofinwë’s regent crown. Nolofinwë had accepted the crown bemused by the gift and Curvo’s snide comment about lesser smiths and subpar work. Maitimo had congratulated himself on this small win.
~***~
Okay, going to parley with Morgoth had been stupid and he had known it. The thing was that the Oath had compelled him to do so. If it had not been him, it would have been one of his brothers and Maitimo couldn’t have borne loosing them after coming so close to loosing Amrod. Now he felt guilty for making them sad over his suffering.
Dear Findekáno had saved him and Maitimo was fine if a little maimed. There were much more important things to worry over now and everyone should move on.
(He wasn’t fine, he truly wasn’t. Often had Maitimo fallen onto his mask of stupid but pretty when Þauron had had his way with his body.)
When he was healing in the tent in uncle Nolofinwë’s camp, Maitimo had had the painful realization that he wasn’t pretty enough now to wear his old mask (and there were many unpleasant memories attached to it from Angband so maybe it was for the best).
Nelyafinwë Maitimo had given up the crown in favor of his half-uncle Nolofinwë. Everyone had been secretly relieved.
Maedhros Fëanarion, eldest son of Fëanáro, had taken his brothers East and turned himself into the most fearsome war general of the First Age.
~***~
“Maedhros?” asked a dark-haired elf confused.
“I believe he was called Nelyafinwë Maitimo in this land.” elaborated Elwing and repeated, “He killed my people twice and stole my sons.”
“Lady, are you sure?” asked another elf sounding more confused after the clarification. “I do belive you think so!” he assured her. “It is only that…how can I put it…Maitimo for all his looks and the greatness of his family has never been the brightest flame in the forge.”
Elwing found herself staring blankly in this elf who had called her childhood horror stupid.
“Only the prettiest.” added the fisrt elf unhelpfully.
Not that the princess of Doriath was the biggest fan of the Red-Haired Fëanorion, but belittling his strategical thinking felt a bit insulting to her. He had attacked her city, both of them, yes. But his letters to Círdan full of war related knowledge, new maneuvers and the lists of weak spots they could fix for all elven settlements had been invaluable. She was also in disbelief how anyone could think Maedhros, The War General, stupid.
Somehow it was not only these two elves who shared the confunding opinion, it was everyone in Valinor who had never left it.
She was starting to lose her mind thinking she had reached not Aman but a weird alternative reality when Finrod Felagund had discretely taken her to a storage room near the unofficial war room and explained that, yes, as far as Valinor was concerned Maitimo was lucky to be pretty to look at for otherwise he would have been useless.
Even his cousins and brothers had only realized there was more than half of a braincell in his head after Angband, so believable had been his mask. That was, after they had stopped worrying Sauron and Morgoth had turned their nice gullible older cousin into something he was not. And, no, it was useless to try to convince the Amanyar of Maedhros’ intelligence. Finrod had tried and the only one who had believed him had been High King Arafinwë whose reaction had best been described as amused assurance that Arafinwë had been there before Maitimo had crafted fully his mask and been one of the closest friends of the eldest Fëanorion. Much to Finrod’s shock, Arafinwë had been fully aware of the deceit.
Elwing had soon given up on convincing others that Maedhros had definitely known what he was doing committing his crimes, getting tired of being politely corrected that Maglor had been the mastermind (probably) by elves pitying her for loosing her home and children. Finrod had commiseratingly patted her arm and offered her a place at his table and drink.
~***~
“You!” exclaimed Elwing seeing the reborn Maedhros for a first time and stopped. She could now see why everyone had believed him back during the Years of the Trees – he was very pretty when he was not dressed for war, had the correct number of limbs and teeth and fewer visible scars. “You are not stupid!”
She declared at a loss of what more to say. With time her rage had turned less scorching and her grief was quieter with her people long reborn, one of her sons long lost to the Gift of Men and the other to sail at some point.
“No, lady.” agreed he with a stupid-looking grin that almost had her believe he truly was an airhead, lucky to be pretty for otherwise he was useless as Finrod had described him.
“I came here and no one! No one! Would believe me you should bear the full responsibility of your crimes against me and mine!”
Next to her Finrod, the orchestrator of the meeting, cackled shamelessly. Maedhros Fëanorion at least looked apologetic.