Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

[The first several pages have been hastily torn out, leaving jagged strips of yellow paper along the spine.]

— so fucking annoying. Like, if he ‘throws down the mountains’ and ‘raises the valleys’ why can’t we just use those valleys and mountains instead? I’m sick of hearing about Aulë’s magnificent master plan, which I’m pretty sure he’s been making up as he goes along. I could do symmetry better than this. Seriously, the coastlines are a mess. Nobody seems to care that half of these cliffs are gonna erode in another ten years and then we’ll be back to the drawing board. I keep trying to explain this to Manwë but after our first few meetings he’s claiming to be busy. At this point he’s been ‘busy’ for a hundred and twenty years, which is remarkable considering his only job is to blow a load of hot air.

Go to Arda, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Bind your powers to a hunk of gray rock and spend your immortal life reworking the same three mile stretch every time some asshole in a black cape rips it up. What a joke.

New volcano just popped! Gotta run,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Finally, some peace. I’m writing this from the clay alcove behind the leftmost forge. When I close my eyes all I hear is the ringing of hammers. It’s quite pleasant.

So. Let’s talk Tulkas.

He showed up a few centuries ago and apparently a little flexing and laughter from him was enough to get that wretch Melkor to fuck off promptly. Eru only knows where he is now. Not sabotaging my canyons, at least, and that’s a blessing in itself. I refuse to repaint one more striated wall. I'm on to metals and metals exclusively.

So Tulkas floated on down and freed us all from the horrors of one unfashionable egomaniac run wild. Ever since he showed up, we've actually been able to make some progress on the world. There are some rough spots, to be sure, but at least it's not constant lava and landslides anymore. Everyone say thank you, Tulkas.

Nevertheless. In spite of everything he's done for me, Arda, et cetera, I kinda hate the guy.

It's nothing personal. He just happens to be one of those endearingly lovable idiots who plays it up to an obnoxious degree. Everyone's all “Did you hear what Tulkas just said?!” while he just stands there with a big goofy grin and goes “Who, me?” And it's not terrible, but I simply don't find it that funny.

And he's blond.

Okay, yeah, those aren't real reasons. Here's the thing. He just showed up on a whim, ran in Melkor's direction, and flashed that big white grin. Now he's a Vala.

He's a fucking Vala.

Meanwhile, I've been here since the beginning of time, when all you could fucking see in every direction were the innumerable stars. I made half the bedrock we're standing on. I crafted of my own two hands artifacts of such subtlety and beauty that Varda herself was brought to tears and hung them among the constellations to float eternally. Not to brag or anything, but man, it would be nice to get a nod or something. Maybe a pat on the back. Maybe someone could have asked me if I would like to become a Vala. Just a thought.

I tried bringing this up to Aulë, but he just muttered something about everyone taking their own path and told me to get back to the coastline project. As I predicted, the cliffs are falling apart. And no one can blame this one on Melkor. It's unforced errors all the way. Not like I mentioned it multiple times.

I swear, sometimes it's like I'm the only one with a brain in the whole host of the Ainur.

But I'm over it. I swear I'm done thinking about Tulkas. He doesn't do much now anyway, aside from wrestling large animals and running around in the woods. Typical Vala behavior.

Oh, yeah. I nearly forgot to mention. My boss made a couple of lamps to light up the place, and now there's fuzzy green stuff everywhere. Creatures, too. Some of them are pretty cute, but I'm not sold on the foliage yet. There are some trees with a certain fractal elegance, but the grasses and bushes are pure chaos. Nothing ruins a perfectly clean landscape like a bunch of musty ferns. I asked Yavanna to keep her shit out of the workshops, but even now, I can see a little bit of leaf poking up from the dirt near the stairs. That's the problem with this stuff, it gets everywhere. It's the same reason I didn't like working with sandstone. Such a mess.

In happier news, I've arranged a little Maiar retreat for me, Eönwë, Ossë, Uinen, and a few other genuine pillars of the community. I even raised up an island specifically for the purpose, after some pretty tense negotiations with Ulmo.

It's a beautiful place, if I do say so myself. The coral reef around it is some of my finest work. There are so many shades of pink; I lost count around six million. Plus, it’s near the foot of Ormal, the golden lamp, so the light is nice and warm. I think warmer light is more flattering on my fana. A few years to relax and bask in the glow should do us all a load of good. I'm certainly looking forward to it.

Hanging in there,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Writing from the mines. I've been singing out a few veins of gold, and just realized I forgot to update this thing.

Bad news. Apparently Ossë is half the reason the cliffs have been going so fucking abysmally. He fell on his face and blubbered and confessed everything after Uinen dragged him in front of the Valar. I heard it all from Eönwë later.

According to Ossë, Melkor approached him secretly years ago and convinced him to make a fool of himself by stirring up storms and rogue waves around the whole damn continent. He's been sabotaging us for ages. Which is weird, because he always seemed like such a reliable guy. I mean, I had plenty of conversations with him. We shared wine and bitched about our respective employers. Sure, he was always a little unstable, given to fits of complaining and cussing and storming about, but who am I to talk? Besides, he didn't seem subtle enough for a scheme like this. Real long-term, sneaky type shit.

On the one hand, I'm furious. Uinen managed to beg a pardon from Manwë, and all is forgiven or whatever, but Ossë’s still on strict probation and they confiscated my whole fucking island in case it was part of his schemes. I had to watch as Ulmo whelmed the place in waves. Not a pleasant experience. I think I might be a little scared of him.

On the other hand, well. I thought we were done with Melkor and his bullshit. Apparently, even after a few centuries of running like a coward, he can still find a way to shove our general incompetence and blindness in Manwë's face (I'm not referring to myself here, of course, but the rest of the gang definitely should have seen this coming). From beyond the very Walls of the Night, he ruined my vacation plans and spat in the direction of the Valar without ever showing his face. There's something really funny about it. I would almost be impressed if I wasn't so angry.

What else? I wrought some beautiful mountains up north, absolutely stunning snow caps on sheer gray faces. I made sure to pile them too high for Yavanna’s delicate children. Nothing green will ever mar those cliffsides. Aulë didn't say much, but I could tell he was impressed. I think. I hope.

Look. I am trying my best, in spite of it all. Someone has to pull their weight around here. I don't see any other likely candidates, so I suppose it's all up to me.

I should get back to the gold now. Still, I wish I could have seen the look on Manwë's face.

Long-suffering and still going,
Mairon

Chapter Text

In the forges now. My hands are stained with copper and silver. It's an interesting feeling, heavy and smooth and slightly cool.

Honestly, I'm getting tired. Eternal flame aside, it's been over a thousand years of the same old shit. Make a new mineral, Mairon. Edit that geology, Mairon. Refine those volcanoes into a more aesthetic shape while you're at it. Apparently a simple cone isn't good enough for Aulë these days. He wants ridges and spires and endless fields of scree. They're infested with ground squirrels, but he doesn't seem to mind. I root them out wherever I find them, but they always come back.

At least I got to spend the past decade crafting new colors for opals and reclining in the deep caves under the mountains. Opal might just be my favorite rock, and I've seen a lot of fucking rocks. Something about the flash of fire on their polished facets is absolutely enthralling. I've added a ring of red opal to my personal collection, and given a few others to friends.

Or a friend, rather. Eönwë. He's pretty much the only one worth talking to at this point.

After the Melkor incident, Uinen called me a bad influence and shut me out for reasons I still don't entirely understand. And poor Ossë turned out to be a pretty boring guy after renouncing his stormy phase and pleading for a second chance. All I ever hear out of his seaweed-covered beard now is “Oh, praise the mighty Valar for their mercy and grace! Aren't they just so sickeningly beautiful and powerful and kind? I'm so glad I get to keep bashing sandbars with my head and drinking saltwater for a living! Truly, Manwë’s generosity knows no bounds.”

Speaking of which, in recognition of all our hard work, Manwë has scheduled a feast of celebration for Valar and Maiar alike. Which wouldn't be such a bad idea, except he also asked me to make the appropriate cutlery, the plates and goblets, the benches, the tables, the tents, the lamps, the napkins, the invitations, the fountains of wine, the ornamental statues, and so on. According to him, “I can't trust just anyone with such vital details, Mairon. I would ask Aulë, but he is already weary, and I know you're up for it. Right? Oh, and please do it all by next year.”

Imagine what I thought of that. I would have told him right then, but he blindsided me. That bastard. He gave me a gift.

He gave me a gift! A present from Manwë! Well, it was Eönwë who actually handed it to me, but Manwë took the credit. And to think I had nearly insulted him to his face and flounced out of the room.

He also said something about recognizing and appreciating my work, which was clearly a hasty attempt to save face after ignoring all my advice. Still, better late than never. This is the first gift I've ever received, unless you count a list of tasks from dear old Aulë.

Manwë called the creature a cat, and I admit that I might like it.

Okay, I like it a lot. It's sitting beside me now. I suppose it's some invention of Yavanna, although it seems too clever and cruel for her. It likes to catch smaller animals with its claws and torment them. I find the habit mildly disturbing, but at least it keeps the forges clean. And it has a magnificent black coat like volcanic glass. I've decided to call it Iris. Somehow, the little beast makes me feel slightly less alone while I hammer out dozens and dozens of lamps, goblets, benches, knives, embossed invitations, statues of amorous fish, et cetera.

Iris is playing with something now—a little insect she chases across the floor and bats over and over with one quick paw. I dare say she is a masterpiece.

Well. Back to my plates. The next one will bear an engraving of my face, I suppose, just like the previous hundred. We’ll see what Manwë says about that.

Still waiting on that feast,
Mairon

Chapter Text

In my chambers. Iris is on my lap. The fire is raging in the hearth. I'm wrapped in soft silk and everything is fine. I'm fucking fine. I just hate them. I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them —

[This continues for two pages.]

Like I said, I'm fine.

The feast begins in a few hours. I can compose myself by then. I'll write it out and put on a smile and pretend none of it matters. Fuck them both.

I finished everything, by the way. All that Manwë asked of me and more. I put all my skill and numerous talents into every last napkin. It was all gorgeous and perfect.

Eönwë summoned me a little while ago. He tried to warn me. He looked all uncomfortable and uptight, but that's nothing unusual for him. As we walked, he leaned over and whispered, “My master's not pleased.”

It was not particularly specific or helpful, but it certainly gave me a vague feeling of dread as I stepped into Manwë’s halls. They are perpetually drafty and cold, which has never suited my temperament. I can't imagine actually living there. No wonder Eönwë always looks so pinched and miserable.

He left me alone to face the ambush, but I can't blame him for that. I would have done the same thing.

Manwë and Aulë were waiting for me on the steps before the throne. In front of them was a stacked pile of my beautiful silver plates, each one bearing an intricate engraving of my beautiful face.

I smiled a little, which must have been a mistake. Under the beard, it's usually hard to read Aulë’s face, but his disapproval here was obvious.

I bowed and did all the usual shit, but Manwë interrupted me and it all went sideways from there.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked.

“As you desired, I made enough plates for all the Ainur dwelling on our blessed isle, my Glorious Lord of Wind.” It never hurts to lay it on thick with Manwë. He isn't aware of sarcasm as a concept, thank Eru.

Aulë is a little more perceptive, unfortunately. “No one requested images of your face.”

“Why not? Is there something wrong with it?”

“This is not a feast in your honor,” Aulë growled. “It is a wedding celebration for Tulkas and Nessa, and a gift to all the Ainur who have labored for the beauty of Arda. All of them, Mairon. Not just you.”

“Yes, yes, everyone has done such a fantastic job,” I said, “and they all deserve, naturally, all the adulation and celebration and fine wine and food that they desire. I'm not arguing with that. But if you wanted someone else's face on the plates, you should have asked someone else to make the plates. And the goblets, the benches, the tables, the tents, the lamps, the napkins —”

“Enough!” Aulë roared. So I shut up, though really it was Manwë’s fault for giving me such a stupidly long list.

“Aulë must remake all of them,” Manwë said, giving me a long and steady gaze that was clearly meant to be intimidating. It worked pretty well. “He has only hours. Do you understand his ire?”

“Certainly, O Prince of Breezes,” I said. “Though I don't understand why you insist on replacing them. To be honest, I didn't think anyone would notice. It was just a joke.” Here I ventured dangerously close to lying, but I really had not expected so much fucking resistance for such an irrelevant detail. They were just plates.

Sure, I'd intended to ruffle Manwë’s feathers a little, but I'd never expected Aulë to get involved.

“Your joke cost us much time and labor, and you still do not seem to regret it,” Aulë said. “Therefore, after much discussion, we have devised a fitting punishment.”

A punishment for making the fucking plates they’d requested. I couldn't even speak for the injustice of it all.

Manwë said, “You are very proud of your fana. Perhaps too proud. Perhaps that is the source of this trouble.”

What a load of bullshit. I mean, I do have the most delicate freckled skin and fine red locks of any being, Vala or Maia, dwelling in Arda. And my features are exquisitely chiseled; I would know, I chiseled them. And of course I am lithe and delicate as a crown of wire, and strong as an iron hammer, and my smile could warm even the ice of the utter north. So I made myself well, and of course I am proud. Why wouldn't I be?

I said all this, more or less. That was another mistake.

They told me that I had to learn humility or my arrogance would destroy me.

The fucking nerve! More than three thousand years of this arrogant Maia breaking his back for their every whim, but apparently that wasn't enough. Apparently I should do it with a smile on my face and constant praise flowing from my lips, or risk annihilation.

I'll cut to the chase. Aulë designed a new fana just for me. He gave me a glimpse of it.

It was a pitiful thing. Small, plain, blanched, and hairless. I shudder just thinking about it. I hate it. I hate them.

When I was finished retching, Manwë declared that I could enjoy myself and remain beautiful for the duration of the feast, but afterward, I would wear the fana of their choosing for a few centuries or so. Enough time to become ‘humble’ and learn to stop arguing. To grovel and beg and lick their boots so that I might once again become myself.

Their cruelty is worse because they see it as kindness. I can hardly believe the conversation that just happened. I came straight back here and locked my door. I am alone with Iris and everything is fine. Everything is fine.

The fire is raging and so am I,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I’ve decided to run away.

Foolish? Yes. Short-sighted? Most definitely. One of my worst ideas yet? We’ll see!

There’s something awfully exciting about it, though. I haven’t been this nervous in millennia.

I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen? They’ve already threatened to make me ugly and bald. I can’t imagine much worse.

They could exile me from Eä, I suppose. I’d be pretty pissed about that. I mean, I built most of it. At least a third. Quarter, bare minimum. My fingerprints are all over the place.

They could talk shit about me. But that’s nothing new. There are plenty of rumors circling my admirable head already, and none of them touch me. Some of the more amusing ones I’ve heard recently:

-I never sleep (almost correct, but not by choice)
-I’m fucking Aulë (ew)
-Iris is some kind of clockwork machine of my own devising (she just sneezed, it was adorable)
-I’m fucking Eönwë (he would never)
-I’m starting some kind of revolution against Manwë (wildly untrue, unless you count whining and moaning in my private diary)
-I’m starting a Maiar union (true at one point, but my boss shut it down pretty fast)
-I’m lazy (false and genuinely infuriating, I do double the work in half the time and I’ve been picking up slack since day one)
-I’m straight (ha)

They could always destroy my work. But I don’t think Aulë would dare meddle with my tectonics. I’m bringing all the best jewelry along with me, just in case: my favorite rings, bracelets, brooches, earrings, crowns, and necklaces. And Iris, of course. I can’t think of anything else I would need.

Oh, my hammer, of course. Just threw it in the bag.

The feast is about to start. This is my chance. With any luck, no one will notice until I’m long gone and the whole place starts collapsing around their ears.

I haven’t decided where exactly I’m going yet. The important part is ‘away.’ Far away. All I need to do is drop off my wedding present for Tulkas and flee as fast as I can. Will update this thing afterward, for good or ill.

Ever hopeful,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It's cold up here.

I made it to the Iron Mountains, at least, and so far as I can tell the wedding party is still going. I haven't been this far from Almaren in a while. In the distance it's like a green boat in a vast lake, and the celebration floats above it as a golden haze. The music is audible even from here. I admit that I'm a little sad to miss it.

I'm even more sad to miss the reactions to my wedding gift. It's honestly one of my finest works, excluding the color carmine. I would have written about it earlier, but I was in a bit of a hurry to leave.

I made a type of music box writ large, with two clockwork figurines of Tulkas and Nessa dancing adorably around each other. At least, that's the gist of it. After playing for a couple hours, the dance becomes a bit more debauched. Let's just say that all those tiny metal clothes are fully removable. I'm sure Tulkas will smash it at some point, but I'm counting on being half a continent away by then.

Have I mentioned how fucking cold it is?

I found a bit of an overhang which shelters me slightly from the winds. From this lofty perch I can look out over most of the world we've made. General impression: meh.

There are a few good parts, certainly. Mainly the ones I had a hand in. They stand out as patches of order and beauty in a vast canvas of chaos. Everywhere else, it's green and pretty and not particularly interesting. Starting to think I'm the only one who cares about compositional unity or symmetry. Arda is a vast mosaic but most of the tiles are about as elegant as the spattered leftovers on a dirty plate.

So. I may still be harboring some bitterness about the plates.

About the whole thing.

About how easy it was to leave as well. Are they even searching for me? I've been moving low to the ground, and slower than I'd prefer, avoiding any suspicious birds, but I'm not even sure if anyone has noticed I'm gone. Maybe Eönwë.

Fuck, I should have at least said goodbye. Too late now.

Onward and upward,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Stupid. Stupid.

I brought a bag of jewels to the top of a fucking mountain.

They weigh me down more with every passing mile. Can't leave them. Couldn't bear to.

My fingers are nearly numb. It's hard to write. Hard to think, too. The world is a slab of gray up here, and the stars are close. I wonder if Varda can see me too.

I don't need much food, or warmth, or sleep. But I can't survive without them entirely. What was I thinking?

I need to get down from here, but it's sheer cliffs on both sides. I love the dramatic angles, but what a pain in the ass they turned out to be!

Briefly contemplated eating Iris. Just for a moment. I wouldn't do it, I swear, but the thought crossed my mind.

I can't eat rats as she does.

Hungry,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Ate a rat. It crunched and squished. Can’t get the blood out from under my fingernails.

So cold.

I can see ice crystals forming on the ink before it dries.

Regretfully,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I may have miscalculated.

Found an ice cave that’s slightly larger than a coffin. I’ve been laying low in here for a while. There are eagles passing overhead, looking for me. Can’t fly out. Can’t stay put or I’ll simply freeze in place.

My pack split open last year on a sharp rock. I’m wearing most of the finer pieces, but the rest of them went skidding into a chasm of pale blue shadow. I don’t suppose I’ll ever see them again.

I never knew how much of my strength came from heat. I feel like a candle in a gale. All that’s left of me is a smoldering wick. I’m afraid to use any kind of power in case it turns out to be the last bit I have left. In case I flicker out.

Iris ran off.

When I poke my head outside the cave, I can see a narrow switchback path a few miles beneath me, winding down the north face of the mountain. Far below it, there’s a hint of green. It might be a forest or a few scraggly bushes. I'd take either at this point.

It’s an awfully long fall if I slip, but I don't see any better alternatives.

Wish me luck,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Long story short: I fell.

I don’t even remember if it hurt or if I passed out before the pain hit. Must have been pretty nasty, though, because I still have bruises and a few cracked bones that ache whenever I move.

I usually heal pretty fast, but then again, I've never fallen off a mountain before.

Not sure what happened afterward, either, which irks me a lot. It was quite a bit of time I spent out of myself, drifting in the void with naught to show for it. I woke up here just a little while ago.

So far as I can tell, ‘here’ is an old watchtower hastily converted into guest quarters. I’m laying on a bed suspended over a cracked and uneven flagstone floor. There’s a fire burning in the hearth, but the chairs beside it are crude and cobwebbed. The light of Illuin comes faint and shadowed through the open windows. It’s a dreary little place, but I suppose I can’t complain too much. I’m mostly intact! I can feel my toes! All minor blessings.

I tried the door earlier, but it’s locked.

Still, this is no prison. I could always climb out a window if I wanted to leave that badly. Curiosity demands I should at least meet my host first. If they wanted to turn me over to the Valar, I’m sure they would have done so already.

Still. What kind of Ainu would live out here, alone, in the shadow of the Iron Mountains?

I’ve theorized some eccentric Maia of Oromë or Ulmo might have saved this place as a retreat. It’s clearly a relic from ages past. There are genuine weapons mounted on the walls—rusty swords, unstrung bows, and the like. Haven’t seen such things in a while. There aren't many opponents worth fighting nowadays, unless you enjoy dueling boars in single combat.

The fire is hot and lovely, and I’m feeling quite drowsy. Nothing to do but doze and wait. Things were a little rough for a while there, but I’m quite pleased with how it’s all turning out.

Warm at last,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Well, I met my host.

As luck would have it, he barged in the door just as I put one foot out the window. Didn't even knock.

I wasn't actually intending to jump, mind you. Just checking my options.

We stared at each other for a good long while. I still don't know entirely what to think of him. His dark robes and black hair suggest a Maia of Varda, though he wears none of her stars. He’s taller than Aulë, maybe even taller than Manwë. His face is severe and his eyes are a colorless void. At a glance, I would assume he has never smiled before in his life.

I might have been a little scared of him, except he was carrying a bowl of soup, suggesting a warm and gentle nature.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked.

“It’s polite to knock,” I said, pulling my foot back inside the room.

“I assumed you were still asleep. You banged your head quite hard when I caught you.”

“When you what?”

“Caught you. After you slipped. I believe you fainted first, but it was hard to tell from such a distance.”

“You caught me?”

He nodded once. I still couldn't quite believe it.

Note: I definitely didn't faint.

“I definitely didn't faint. How on Arda did you happen to be standing under me?”

“It is in fact a rare occurrence for a solitary Maia covered in jewelry and traveling on foot to cross the Iron Mountains alone without supplies, shelter, or a map. For a while I thought you were coming to seek me out.”

I scoffed audibly before remembering that diplomacy was my best option here. Still, the ego was astounding. “I didn't even know you existed.”

“Clearly.” His voice was flat and low, betraying nothing. How annoying. “But I have been tracking your progress for a while. I saw you step out over the cliff path, and decided to intervene before you disembodied yourself. In the end I had to run. I'm afraid your landing was not as gentle as it might have been, given my haste. As I said, your head hit my shoulder quite hard.”

That would explain a couple things: my general fuzzy sense of being slightly off-balance, and the fact that I hadn't completely shattered into a million pieces on the rocks.

Still, I like to appear at least marginally competent, and falling off a cliff is pretty much the definition of not that. I wobbled slightly as I tried to think of a response that didn't make me sound like even more of an idiot.

“You may want to sit down and eat this,” he said, lowering the bowl toward me.

I hesitated. It smelled very good.

In the end I swallowed my pride, perched on the bed, and devoured it. It was some kind of rabbit stew with parsnips, and possibly the best thing I've ever tasted.

As I ate, he said, “May I ask what drove you to cross the mountains in such a state, now that you have clarified it was not an attempt to spy on me?”

“Look, I don't particularly care who you are or what you're doing over here,” I said, even as I realized it wasn’t entirely true. “I had a bit of trouble and decided to leave for a while, okay? I just … didn’t plan it out too well.”

“Trouble on Almaren?” He raised one quizzical eyebrow.

Fishing. It wouldn't work on me. “Yes.”

“Elaborate.”

“I’d rather not.” I set the empty bowl aside.

He frowned at me.

It was a very dark look, heavy enough to dim the fire and chill the room slightly.

“Unfortunately, intimidation doesn't work on me,” I said.

“You think that was intimidation?”

I took a different approach, since starting a confrontation here did not seem like a great idea. “I don’t think my past is any of your business. Clearly you've chosen to isolate yourself for your own reasons. So have I.”

“Fair enough. At least answer me this.” He leaned forward slightly. “Is there any particular reason you brought so many jewels with you into isolation?”

I fidgeted with the ring on my index finger. “I made them.” And I love them.

“Then I suppose you made these as well.”

From his vast black robe he drew out handfuls of necklaces, rings, earrings, bracelets—the very pieces I’d lost when my bag split. He scattered them callously over the floor.

“How did you —” I scrambled on my hands and knees, gathering them together. I'm not ashamed to say that tears welled in my eyes. I’d truly believed they were gone.

Immediately, automatically, I began picking through them, checking to see if any were missing.

“I did not take any,” he said. His expression didn't change, but I think there was some amusement in his voice. “Here’s your hammer as well.” He offered the handle toward me. “I imagine you are one of Aulë’s smiths?”

“I … yes.” I took the hammer and clasped it with both hands, staring down at the floor.

Sure enough, they were all together, and all intact. Opals and rubies and yellow tourmalines glimmered in the firelight. I sat back, covering my face for a moment so that I might compose myself. Rarely had I been surprised so many times in one conversation, and never so pleasantly.

“I don’t suppose you saved my cat?” I asked swiftly, because if we didn’t move on I was going to actually start crying. Eru, what is wrong with me?

“I saw no cat.”

“Ah. It doesn't matter.”

The words came out more wistful than I'd intended. My host, who seemed suddenly awkward, turned away.

“I should go. The door will be unlocked, but please don't leave without informing me,” he said. “Is there anything else you need here, to be … comfortable?”

“A mirror would be nice.”

He nodded once. I felt suddenly bold.

“And silk sheets, if you have them. Ideally in red. And a broom so I might clear out these cobwebs. And a bottle of wine. Or three.”

His eyes narrowed by a fraction. “Why not a forge as well?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You could never fit a proper forge up here. But some metal would be nice, something soft and easily workable, like tin. Or gold. It would give me something to do with my hands.”

Miraculously, he nodded again. “I'll see what I can do.”

Then he left.

I forgot to ask his name.

Feeling strange and strangely happy,
Mairon

Chapter Text

By Eru, I look terrible.

My host brought all that I requested and more—heavy drapes for the windows, a thick rug, and an ivory comb.

I was in desperate need of that last one. Even with my hair properly brushed out, though, I look ghastly. My eyes are sunken and shadowed, and my bones protrude alarmingly. Bruises everywhere. With my eyes half-closed, I look dead. I've turned the mirror toward the wall so I don't alarm myself.

Perhaps there was some truth to what Manwë and Aulë said; perhaps I'm overly attached to my fana.

That's not to say they handled it well. They were complete fools about it, but they may not have been entirely wrong.

I poked my head out the door earlier, just to confirm it was indeed unlocked. There isn't much to see. The mountains slope down into a low plain that I remember carving out some eons ago. Strange how time flies.

So far as I can tell, the only thing that's changed are a few chasms in the earth that I don't remember cutting. They stretch north from the base of my little tower.

Since I saw him disappear into one of these chasms, I’ve revised my assumptions about my host. I think he's some kind of Aulë ex-employee, perhaps in a situation much like mine.

Aulë has a cadre of deep smiths who specialize in layers of stone far below the soil. They usually don't bother sticking their faces above the ground at all. I've met a few of them, and let me just say they are some of the most gloomy and colorless bastards on Arda. My host would fit in perfectly among them.

Still don't know why the fuck he's out here in the middle of nowhere, but thank Eru I happened to land in his valley. Without him, I'm quite sure I would be dead.

Weird. I've never owed anyone my life before. I should probably thank him or something.

I tried offering him one of my bracelets, but he told me it was far too delicate. His hands are so large, he could almost wear it as a ring.

Perhaps I'll make something custom. He brought me the metal I asked for, both tin and gold, but I'm not sure if either match his temperament. Black bronze might be more suitable.

I'm not sure how long I can stay here—and I think I may be testing his patience a little—but at this moment I'm content in a way I haven't felt since time began. That's quite impressive, I think.

Let's enjoy it while it lasts,
Mairon

Chapter Text

New facts have come to light.

Fact 1 - There was some kind of tranquilizing compound in the food and drink. I've been pouring both out the window for a little while now, and my mind has sharpened considerably. Everything hurts more, including my fractured leg, and I no longer have a general feeling of fuzzy contentment and total complacency. Which has led me to realize the obvious:

Fact 2 - My host is not alone here. The chasms I mentioned earlier are inhabited. When I listen closely, I can hear the echoes of faint voices, footsteps, and metalworking rising up from the depths. Not to mention the pillars of smoke. There's definitely some kind of industry going on down there.

Let's just say that I fear the worst.

Over the course of these revelations I've been hastily crafting a golden necklace in the shape of a radiant sun, with interlocking bands which can expand or contract as needed. It bears an enchantment of truth. I hope to convince my host to wear it and ask him a few questions which have been weighing on me pretty heavily: Who is he? What is he doing here? What are his intentions regarding me?

And most importantly: does he serve the Enemy? Because that would really suck.

Hoping I live to find out,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I need to leave.

Damn the leg. Damn me for falling off the mountain and falling for this shit. I have to get back to Almaren or I'm fucked.

He only just left. For all I know he's standing outside my door and waiting for me to make a break for it. I have to be patient, but my hand is shaking so hard I can barely read what I've written. I have to be patient. There is a way out.

My host showed up just a few hours ago and asked bluntly why I'd been pouring all his wine onto the rocks. I was not at all prepared for such a conversation, and ended up babbling out the truth.

“Have only Irmo’s folk heard of painkillers?” he asked dryly. “I added only what I thought necessary, given the state you were in.”

I pointed out that he might have at least told me. I added my other findings—the work in the chasms, his strange isolation, the fact that he never told me his name or origins. In short, I all but accused him of nefarious purposes, and demanded he wear the necklace of truth before answering me.

Madness! Folly!

And he agreed to it!

For a moment I faltered, thinking I'd made an awful mistake, and he meant no harm.

He put on the golden collar and told me he had not lied to me yet, and did not intend to. Of course I had to believe him then. He invited me to see what he was building in the chasms, and I agreed.

Can't blame that one on anyone but myself. And curiosity, that monster. Now I know what lies beneath my feet.

There is a fortress. Down under the roots of the Iron Mountains, where the light of Illuin shines not, there are dark halls and tunnels and galleries and endless rooms of gray and green stone. Workshops overlooking lakes of lava. Caverns shaped into sprawling armories. Braziers glowing in the eyes of twisted statues. It is all crude and brutal and horribly, wretchedly functional.

I caught only the barest glimpse, but what I saw was enough to doom me. He will never let me go now that I know.

I pulled away from his grasp on a balcony overlooking a river of fire. “Why are you showing me this?” I whispered.

“Thought you might appreciate the design. It may not be as fine or subtle as your craft, but it was hastily built.” My host watched me through narrow black eyes. “And much remains to be done.”

“You work for Melkor,” I said.

He tilted his head. He was still wearing the necklace. “Never thought of it like that, but I suppose you're right. I do.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. You're evil, aren't you?”

“I have only tried to help you thus far.”

“Why?” I asked, with some desperation. “Why didn't you just leave me?”

“You are moderately intriguing. And I'm bored.”

I started laughing and couldn't quite stop. There may have been a hysterical edge to it. “Moderately? Are you fucking kidding me? That’s the best you can do?”

“What were you hoping for?”

“Tell me, is he here now? Melkor?”

And then the strangest thing happened. He laughed too. He'd never even cracked a smile that I'd seen, but his laughter rolled out like thunder through the dark halls.

And he said, “Yes.”

All that I know is that I have to get out of here.

I have to get out of here,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I waited as long as I could bear, then set the watchtower on fire and jumped out the window. Landed badly, but that couldn't be helped.

I must have limped a few hundred feet before he caught up with me.

“Leaving so soon?”

I turned and faced him with my best ‘fuck off’ glare, but it was tragically ineffective. “I’m not interested in sticking around just to amuse you. Eru only knows what Melkor would do to me if he found out I was here.”

He nodded gravely and asked, “Would it be worse, do you think, than having your fana stripped from you and replaced with one of Aulë’s choosing?”

I blinked. “What are you—how do you know about that?”

“I may have read that journal of yours before you awoke. Forgive me, but I kept a souvenir as well.” From his black robes he withdrew four loose pages.

The first four pages of my diary. The pages inscribed with my melody, my part in the music of the Ainur.

I screamed a little. He smiled.

“If those fall into Melkor’s hands —” I said, working my way up to a threat that never materialized.

Because he started to laugh again, and this time the noise cracked the ground beneath our feet. Thunderclouds gathered overhead. His hair whipped back in the wind, and his face shone like a white mask floating on a sea of darkness. “Don’t you see?”

I did at once, and felt immeasurably stupid.

“It’s you,” I said weakly.

I'd seen him a few times, back when the world was new, but only from a great distance. He carried such an aura of malevolence and chaos that I thought he would be unmistakable.

Apparently I was wrong.

All that I had to say evaporated. Ice crept over the ground, binding my feet in place. I braced myself and waited for the end.

Instead he leaned in. I could feel his breath on my forehead. It smelled like ash. His black hair curtained us both.

“You may wish to run back to your masters on Almaren,” he murmured. “And I don't blame you. Go ahead and run. But before you warn them of me and my return, remember who holds your music well in hand.”

I made a feeble grab for the pages, but he pulled them away. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

“Fine,” I spat, breaking the ice with one fiery heel. “I won’t tell anyone. Happy?”

“Very.”

And he let me go.

I'm over the mountains now. Almaren looms in the distance. I still haven't decided what I should do next.

I need a drink,
Mairon

Chapter Text

One year since I returned to Almaren.

I’ve been afraid to open this thing. Or maybe ‘embarrassed’ is closer to the truth. But all that’s happened weighs heavily on me still, and I figured I’d try putting it into words.

I don’t like to think about how blind and utterly idiotic I was, missing the Enemy right under my nose, but in my defense, the situation was—and still is—confounding.

Melkor has my melody. The song from which I was made, the one that resonates perpetually in my flesh and spirit. He could easily do any number of terrible things—wreck me, rewrite me, string me out into silence—at any time, with a breath and a handful of notes.

But he hasn’t. Yet.

Why?

For that matter, why did he catch me? Why humor me? Why read my diary and pretend he hadn’t? Why treat me as a guest and not a prisoner?

Why let me go?

He could destroy me utterly, but I can still betray him.

At this moment I’m in my old chambers, less than a half-mile from Aulë’s halls. I could warn the Valar of Melkor’s dark fortress within minutes. Right now, I hold the power to ruin that bastard’s plans permanently with a short walk and a handful of words.

But I haven’t. Yet.

Why?

I don’t understand him. I don’t understand myself.

There is a shadow on Arda, or so Eönwë told me upon my return (after the hugging, the weeping, the cursing, and so on). Strange creatures stalk the beasts of the wood. Flies and roaches swarm the pantries. Rivers turn to stinking swamps.

One Maia of Oromë swears she witnessed a monster of bulging, misshapen flesh eating a deer carcass in three swift bites. I would have assumed she was referring to Tulkas, but the brute is still sleeping. Apparently I missed one hell of a wedding party.

More alarmingly, since my departure, several Maiar have gone missing. Mostly fire spirits. Mostly those under Aulë.

Hence Aulë’s joy at my unexpected return, his easy forgiveness, his desire for reconciliation. He truly thought I was gone.

Taken.

I know where the rot comes from, and I know where the Maiar go, and I can’t do anything about it.

Melkor has made me into a liar.

As I told Manwë and Aulë, I’d run away to the Iron Mountains, and wandered, and felt homesick, and returned. Somewhere along the way, I’d taken a nasty fall.

They wanted to know if I’d seen the other Maiar. I had not.

They wanted to know if I’d seen anyone, friend or foe. Neither, I said.

They wanted to know if I’d found any trace of Melkor or his schemes. Only a lingering fear, I told them. Uselessly vague, but they bought it.

It was almost too easy.

Now I’m home, though it no longer feels like home. No one walks alone in the woods now. Everyone is uncertain, skittish, and trying to pretend otherwise. Manwë’s scouts patrol the banks of our island. Aulë has started making swords again.

They’re right to be scared. I should be, too, but all I can feel is shame. The secret burns my tongue. A dozen times I’ve nearly told Eönwë the truth, and a dozen times I’ve choked on the words. Better to be a coward than a fool.

I stick to the forges now, making long, serrated blades. We’ll need them soon enough.

I have no idea what I’m doing,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Iris came to my door while I slept, meowing and scratching until I let her in. I was more than pleased to realize she was still alive.

She is wearing a golden collar in the shape of a radiant sun.

There was a scroll of paper tucked under the metal, pressed against her black fur.

In twelve hours, under the gray rock north of the willow grove.

I don’t want to go. I want to forget I ever saw him up close. I want to pretend I’m still the loyal overworked Maia of Aulë, and not the skulking liar I’ve become.

Fuck me, I guess,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I didn't really expect to see him again. Not here, on Almaren, in the flesh. I figured there would be an emissary, or another note, or some kind of clever trap. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

I found Melkor, the Enemy, the self-proclaimed Dark Lord of Arda, sitting in the shadow of an enormous gray boulder surrounded by willow trees.

By Eru, I’m not sure how I ever mistook him for anyone else. He looks plain enough—he ditched the cape at some point—but there's no hint of mercy on his face, and his gaze is colder than snowmelt. He still carries himself like a king, as if no one told him he was in exile. He looked up at me as if expecting a bow of fealty.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, surprising myself with the venom in my voice. “How dare you show your face on Almaren?”

“I'd like to talk,” he said, waving an arm lazily at the ground beside him. “Come. Take a seat.”

I didn't move. “You're wasting your time. I know you're a liar. Nothing you say can change that.”

“I never lied to you.”

“Except by omission,” I said. “That counts.”

“It was my responsibility as your host to avoid troubling you with matters out of your control. Besides, I assumed you would recover better if you were not afraid of me.”

What a load of bullshit. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Now who's the liar?”

“You’re nothing but a sulking brat who wants to destroy the world because you can’t have it,” I snapped. “I should call for Tulkas and see how bravely you flee.”

“Do it, then.” As I hesitated, Melkor rose to his feet. He is quite a bit taller than me, and stood far too close for comfort. Looming is clearly one of his specialties. “Tulkas would not arrive in time to prevent me from crushing you, if I wished to.”

“I’d like to see you try it,” I said, rather stupidly. I wouldn’t like that at all.

But he just watched me. I’m starting to think that there’s a perpetual smirk hiding under that flat, cold expression. Certainly his eyes were laughing at me.

He hummed a few notes. The flame in me fluttered and grew at the sound.

“Stop it!” I cried, covering my ears, as if that would do me any good.

He stopped. I lowered my hands.

All was silent, but for the waves lapping the northern shore of Almaren.

“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Fine. You win. Get on with it.”

“With what?”

“The blackmail. The betrayal. Whatever you came here to make me do. Clearly I can’t stop you, so let’s just get it over with.” I crossed my arms as he bent over me. There must have been a bare six inches between us, but I refused to step back first. “Well? What do you want?”

“You wound me,” he said dramatically, placing a hand flat against his chest. “You think I’m here to make demands? I told you I just wanted to talk.”

“You risked slithering down to Manwë’s doorstep after three years of silence because you wanted to talk? How stupid do you think I am?”

He started to speak, but I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear it. “Stop lying to me.” He was nearly breathing down my collar. I gave up and turned away then, sick of seeing his mocking face and hearing the faint discord of his exhales.

“Very well. I admit it. I wanted to ask you questions as well, if you will humor them.”

“Interrogate me, then. But I won't tell you of our armories, or weapons, or tactics. Nothing that could be used against us. Nor will I tell you —”

“I'm not here for your military insights, Mairon,” he said. I could hear the damn smile in his voice. “Why haven’t you informed the Valar of Utumno?”

“Utumno?”

“My fortress. My home. You saw its halls, as I recall, some three years ago. You’ve had ample time to speak to your masters since then.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” I risked glancing back at him then. He did not appear to be convinced. Neither was I.

“And why haven’t you mentioned to them the location of all those missing Maiar? Did that slip your mind as well? Surely you know they are with me.”

“Of course I do. I was nearly one of them,” I hissed.

He tilted his head in genuine confusion. “What makes you say that?”

“Isn’t that your whole thing? You find lost spirits wandering the wild and keep them in your cozy tower until they decide to trust you, then bind them forever into your cruel service?” That was certainly my impression of the process.

“Your situation was … unique. Most of my servants have chosen to seek me out. You were the exception.”

“I’m not your servant.”

He laughed. “As you say.”

I couldn't tell if he was deceiving me. I guess that's the whole problem with him. At some point in the conversation, I'd taken a seat on the mossy ground beside him, though I couldn't remember when or why. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe,” I said, “that all your servants have come to you willingly.”

“Why not? You serve the Valar willingly, don't you?”

My mouth opened and closed.

I'm not unwilling, certainly, but it wasn't like I got much of a choice. It was Aulë or nothing.

I didn't say that, but he read my face. His smug look was nearly insufferable. “At least I provide an alternative to them. Is it such a surprise that your counterparts might seek me out?”

“Look. You might have my song, and you might have genuinely —” I couldn't say ‘saved my life,’ the words just wouldn't come out. “— helped me, but I'm simply not buying your benevolent overlord bit. If you're trying to convince me to defect, you might as well save your breath.”

“I never claimed to be benevolent,” he said. “But I've read your journal, Mairon. My chief question regarding you is not how can I convince you to defect but rather how have you not defected already? Have you not worked tirelessly and thanklessly for several millennia under masters who do not deserve your devotion?”

“No one deserves my devotion,” I said swiftly, standing. The conversation was moving in a direction that made my skin prickle with heat and fury. “Not Aulë. Certainly not you.”

He raised both hands defensively. His palms were scarred, as if he'd used them to cut rocks. “I never asked for it.”

“Good.” I gave him my most withering glare. “I need to get back to work. Unless you have any further questions to press upon me.”

He did not.

I returned to the forges and labored with such speed and anger that Curumo stopped to ask if I was all right. I nearly threw a dagger at his head.

I should tell Aulë, or Manwë, or anybody. I think I'll do that next.

I don't deserve this,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Aulë wants me to construct a whole new set of barracks. Barely slept for a year. I'm writing with a quill in one hand and a hammer in the other. What else is new?

Varda asked for me recently. I climbed to the top of the star halls, where the air is thin and the sky is a sheet of indigo. She made small talk, which confused me, and confessed she was glad to see me back, which floored me. Slightly late, but still touching.

“I missed the warmth and light of your flame, singular among our people,” she said. “Even Aulë has not your fire.”

My cheeks were certainly fiery red. I mumbled something I can't recall. Probably for the best.

“It would be a sad day indeed if you left us,” she said.

For a moment I was convinced she knew. Somehow. Hard to hide from the stars, after all.

I nearly started making excuses before I realized she was just doing her due diligence. As one of Aulë’s Maiar, I’m an automatic flight risk. For all I know, she’s given the same speech to every smith in the foundry.

Still, I bowed and thanked her and promised to make her another beautiful spinning galaxy for her collection. Haven't gotten around to that yet. Maybe next year.

Varda has a spark of that genuine nobility the others only pretend to possess. It's a shame to see her parading around with a fool like Manwë.

Speaking of, Eönwë’s planning a party. Hoping to raise morale, I suppose. I would say I'm looking forward to it, but there's no point in lying to myself.

No word from him. But his questions are still circling in my head.

Why haven’t I defected yet? Maybe because I have some pride in myself and my work. Maybe because destruction and chaos don't appeal to me as much as order and control. Maybe I'm still bitter about the time he collapsed my favorite box canyon.

I'm trying to think of the wittiest response for the next time I see him.

If I see him.

Maybe I’ll get lucky and he'll leave me alone,
Mairon

Chapter Text

[The handwriting is shaky and the page is spattered with drops of liquid, making some words illegible.]

Party was a disaster! I’m still drunk! Over fucking three and twenty hours of straight raspberry wine and [illegible] without any [illegible] except Eönwë, of course. Love Eönwë but he’s so sad! It’s tragic. I asked him, why the long face, Eönwë? And he said, please let go of my shirt.

I didn’t leave then, but I should have. Nothing good happened after that. Aulë cornered me by the fountains next to [illegible] and tried to apologize. Hilarious. “If I push you, it’s just because you’re better than the rest.” Thanks, boss! I knew that already! Why else would you ask me to do absolutely fucking everything all of the time?

Didn’t tell him that, of course. I’m still afraid to piss him off after [illegible] just not worth it. I am not risking my ass on an argument with a Vala when I could just nod and walk away.

So I nodded and walked away. Fooled him good. I’m not bitter!

Oh, and Ossë was looking for me, apparently. Don’t know why. I didn’t see him at the party. Haven’t seen him in years. Just heard through a Maia with white hair and [illegible] didn’t recognize. I shrugged and kept walking.

Finally found Eönwë again. This time I dragged him away from all those clingy little [illegible] so we could talk properly.

We went to the gazebo in the rose garden. I said something to him. Can’t remember all of it. The sky behind him was beautiful and I kept staring at it. All [illegible] blue clouds lined with gold.

“What happened to you after you left?” Eönwë asked. His face and hair and eyes are so pale. Like snow. It occurred to me that he was drunk as well.

I told him—ah, fuck.

I told him.

It’s coming back to me now.

Didn’t mention Melkor by name, but I told him I went over [illegible] met a stranger I didn’t like. That everything was getting worse. That I needed him to help me.

And I kissed him, too.

And then I think he left. Because I was definitely [illegible] alone after that.

Came back here and found Iris waiting for me. One spark of light in this [illegible] fog.

My head hurts,
Mairon

Chapter Text

All I've ever done is make a fool of myself.

I avoided Eönwë for a while. When he came to the forges, I was down in the mines. When he came to the mines, I was sketching blueprints in Aulë’s study. When he knocked on the door, I hid under the desk. And so on and so forth.

He finally ambushed me on my way back from the star halls. I'd just delivered Varda’s latest galaxy, a twinkling pink and aqua spiral which she clearly adored. I was in a good mood, but seeing Eönwë immediately shattered it. He popped out of the sky and scared the shit out of me.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his voice so strained and earnest that I could not refuse.

So we talked.

“Look,” he said, “I’m flattered, and I think you're a great friend, but we aren't … I don't … you know.”

I laughed too cheerfully. “Yes. I know. It's okay.”

He continued to explain that he didn't think of me in that way, and he was not mentally prepared for a relationship, and besides Manwë and Aulë would not approve. He had clearly been planning this speech in his head for a while. I let him ramble and tried to figure out the best way to respond.

The thing is, I'm not into Eönwë. Not like that. Not really. And I know how that sounds now, after I kissed him, but it's true.

I'm not sure why I did it. I don't know what I was looking for. Certainly not a relationship.

He's a great guy, don't get me wrong—just a little too high-strung and fluttery for me.

Obviously I didn't say that to his face.

Eventually Eönwë veered into more dangerous waters. I'd told him vaguely about Melkor, and he was concerned. Apparently the kiss was not enough of a distraction to make him forget our previous conversation. What a shame.

“Who is he, this stranger of yours?” he asked. “Do you know his name?”

I shrugged. “No. We didn't talk much. I believe he's a Maia of Ulmo.”

“You said you didn't like him. And that you needed my help.”

“Eönwë, buddy, I was plastered. I don't remember anything except—you know.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m fine. Just stretched a little thin, like everyone else.”

“We aren’t prepared for the war to come. The darkness is closing in,” he said in a whisper. “We are still losing Maiar. One or two vanish with each passing year. I don't know what I would do if you were —”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, and even conjured a laugh. “How many times must I say it before you believe me? I'm not going anywhere.”

After many reassurances, I convinced him to leave me alone. Still, the sour taste lingers in my mouth.

I came so close to honesty. If I had mentioned Melkor's name, explained the trap I was in, and begged Eönwë to help me escape, I'm sure he would have done everything in his power to aid me.

But I fear it's too late for that. The longer I wait, the more suspicious my confession would be. For years I’ve known the location of Utumno and said nothing.

Perhaps I could tip off the Valar anonymously, but if Melkor traced their knowledge back to me, I'd be screwed. And who else would he blame?

Guess I'm still a coward,
Mairon

Chapter Text

There's a big hole in the ground. Several miles deep, full of bats and spiders and creepy crawly things. At the bottom is a great sea of magma. The Valar are pissed, the Maiar are panicking, and I think it’s rather funny. Apparently it grows a little larger every hour. By the end of this year it might reach the shores of Almaren.

We all know who put it there. It's not exactly a mystery. Still, no one dares speak his name.

Except me. “Have you seen Melkor’s hole?” is my new ‘hello.’ Nobody else seems to get the joke, but at least I'm amusing myself.

Absolutely ridiculous,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I've spent a year focusing on chasm control. It's fine and delicate work: holding the living stone together, quenching the magma down below, repairing the shattered bedrock, and keeping earthquakes to a minimum. Not to brag, but I’m nailing it. No wonder Aulë put me in charge.

In addition to the natural satisfaction I take from a job well done, I find it particularly enjoyable to ruin Melkor's sad attempts at sabotage. I hope he knows I’m the one responsible for thwarting his little project. I hope it makes him angry. Haven't heard from him in a while; maybe he's sulking.

I did find a note in my chambers, scrawled on a piece of seaweed and stinking of brine. It was a message from Ossë requesting that we grab a drink sometime. I haven't written back yet. I'm hoping he'll just forget about it. I pity him slightly, but pity makes a terrible foundation for friendship.

He did leave a few sardines, which made Iris very happy. I've caught her fishing a few times in the ornamental ponds of Yavanna’s gardens. She is a truly merciless creature.

Back to the hole,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Ugh.

Got the summons a few hours ago. I turned up to find the triple threat: Eönwë, Varda, and Manwë, all watching me as if I were a hairball Iris had just hacked up onto the carpet.

This can't be good, I said to myself. As usual, I was right.

“Do you know why you're here?” Manwë asked, giving me that stern periwinkle stare.

I bowed and scraped and said, “If this is about the Melkor's hole thing, I swear, I'll never mention it again. Though I did get a chuckle out of Irmo.”

Of course he had no idea what I was talking about, but I swear to Eru, I saw Varda's lips twitch. Not that she'd ever admit it.

“Do not let his name pass your lips so readily,” Manwë ordered. I nodded and muttered an apology, but he kept talking. “Faithful Eönwë has given us some troubling information.”

When Manwë wasn't looking, I shot Eönwë a glare of such accusation and betrayal that his white cheeks turned red.

Apparently he went ahead and ratted me out. I'm almost surprised it took him this long. He must have agonized over it for a while.

It was my mistake, thinking I could actually trust Manwë’s pet herald. I don't know what came over me, besides a few barrels of raspberry wine. I should have seen this coming, but I'm still disappointed. What can I say? It hurts to lose a friend.

Manwë and Varda interrogated me on every word I'd spilled at the party, and I dodged and evaded and wheedled my way around every question they had. There was only one thing I could not avoid, and that was the existence of Melkor.

I'd called him a stranger. That was strange in itself. On Almaren everyone knows everyone, more or less, and secrets are nearly unheard of (or perhaps just very well kept).

The mere fact that I had not mentioned his name was suspicious. The fact that I'd apparently met him on my long journey away from home was even more suspicious. The severity of the situation was rapidly becoming uncomfortable, and I had to find a way out.

So I lied. Blatantly. Terribly.

I said I was in love with Eönwë, and the stranger was a fiction to make him jealous.

Speaking the words made my tongue hurt. Writing them down is even worse. But nothing can compare to the look on Eönwë’s face. I think we're dead to each other now. He's certainly dead to me.

It felt so wrong. I thought Eru would materialize just to call me out for the worst lie in the history of Arda. I thought Manwë’s big blue eyes would see right through me. I thought Varda would read the tremble in my voice and the fire burning in my ears and realize I was making up all of it.

I thought wrong.

They felt genuinely sorry for me. They thought I was defective. Manwë told me that I was removed from the chasm project, and from all ongoing projects, pending my successful recovery from this one-sided infatuation.

“What the hell are you talking about? I said, perhaps inauspiciously. “That’s the worst thing you could possibly do.” I’d hate to twiddle my thumbs for the next decade just because I claimed to have a crush on Eönwë.

“What would you suggest, then, to help you find peace?” Varda asked.

I took the question a bit too seriously and launched into my proposed reworking of the architecture of Almaren, the management of Maiar, the geology of Arda, the patterns of the ocean, the placement of the Lamps, the color of the sky, the biology of olvar and kelvar, the fundamentals of chemistry, and the nature of reality. I've pondered many of these subjects in a theoretical way, and I'm pretty sure I could run all of them better than the fuckers currently in charge. Expressing these opinions in front of Lord Manwë turned out to be less than helpful.

I'm on house arrest.

The hexagonal shape of my room is calming to me. There's a pleasing contrast between the blank gray stone walls and the plush red carpet. I wonder how long I could stay here before going insane.

Iris just began to claw the back of my chair. I see another note tucked in her golden collar. If this one is also from Ossë, I'm going to scream.

Cheers,
Mairon

Chapter Text

He just keeps sending more notes. I can't exactly write back, so I've simply been collecting them.

Requesting your presence by the rock again. Twelve hours.

I see they have you under lock and key. What exactly do they think you've done?

I'll be waiting here whenever you get out.

You haven't tried very hard yet. There are only two guards. I'm quite certain you could slip past them if you put your mind to it.

By Eru, I never knew he was such a stalker. I'm half-surprised I haven't caught him peering through my window.

The guards are both Maiar of Manwë. I tried talking to them, but neither seemed interested in conversation. I wonder if the situation with Eönwë has gone public yet. It would be just my luck.

I have enough copper wire to keep myself occupied for another twenty-seven hours. After that, I just might snap.

Clock is ticking,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Aulë stopped by for a visit. No warning or anything. He just barged in.

As luck would have it, this very diary was lying open on my desk, along with all of Melkor’s notes. I can hardly imagine a more incriminating sight. My immediate instinct was to panic, dive across the room and shove everything into a drawer before he could start reading it.

Thankfully, I realized how suspicious that would look and stopped myself just in time. Or mostly in time. What actually happened was me throwing myself out of bed and coming to a dead stop in the middle of the room, pivoting to face Aulë, and giving him an entirely normal bow.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“I’ve become a prisoner in my own home,” I said, keeping steady eye contact and hoping with all my heart that he would not glance left. “I’m out of wire. My hands ache with boredom. But that's about it.”

He expressed, in his own fumbling way, that he was unhappy with the situation as well. But he refused to do anything about it. He wouldn't argue with Manwë, or break me out, or even expand my range to the forges.

“Doesn't anyone miss me down at the foundry?” I asked.

He hesitated before saying yes. Not just a lie, but a clumsy and unconvincing lie. I wonder where I learned it from. “We all wish for your return, but I think it wiser to keep you here for now. At least until your head has cooled.”

I assured him that I was entirely cool, practically chilly, and he didn't need to worry about my temperature.

“Melkor has returned,” he said quietly, giving me a meaningful look. I realized I was supposed to be surprised and tried to paint my face with shock. Not sure if he bought it. “We know not where. But I can guess his purposes. He means to reclaim Arda or destroy it in the attempt. He is looking for slaves and thralls to aid him in his war. The isolated, prideful, and skilled among us are most vulnerable to his influence.”

“Then you should be careful, Lord Aulë.”

He glowered at that. “I’m speaking of you.”

I told him that I had plenty of friends, and my pride was long gone, buried in a stack of plates. But I was flattered that he considered me skilled. I told him that I was truly honored at the compliment, and would gladly use my skill to his benefit as soon as I got out of this fucking room.

“Do you take me for a fool?” he asked. Never a good question. He started to rant about the arrogance of Maiar before cutting himself off. Maybe he realized he was completely sabotaging himself. Maybe he just feared the guards would hear him.

“You have the talent of the master, but the mouth of a crude halfwit,” he said. And for once he was just about right. “Still, I would be disappointed to see you stumble blindly into darkness, following false promises and imagined power. If Melkor reached you now —” He visibly shuddered. “Far better for you to stay here until he is found and dealt with. Or at least until Tulkas returns from his honeymoon.”

Then Aulë actually tried to bargain with me. He explained that he needed some revisions on the aspects of distant heat mirages. He'd put poor Curumo on the assignment, but the lazy bastard just copied rippling water instead of coming up with something new.

He wanted me to fix it for him. He expected me to work here, in my chambers. He promised to bring me the necessary tools and equipment, so long as I delivered what he asked for.

I told him he could fuck off to the Void and leave me alone. As far as I'm concerned, so long as I'm stuck in here, I'm also on strike.

No surprise that he left in a bad mood. At least his eyes never landed on my desk. Can't imagine how he would react if he found out Melkor and I were corresponding already.

I mean, I'm not exactly thrilled about that either. Aulë may think of me as a naive, temperamental idiot, but I'm certainly not an easy target for Melkor’s bullshit. He's obviously trying to manipulate me. That's what he does. I don't intend to fall for it. But as long as I'm stuck in this honeycomb cell, it's the best entertainment I have.

Still bored,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Another note just came in via the chimney. Had to fish it out of the fire. The edges are singed.

Haven't seen Aulë’s face so red since the invention of magma. You ought to argue more often.

I nearly tore up the floor looking for some kind of peephole or passage. Couldn't find anything. The room itself is pretty barren: just a bed, a desk, two chairs, and a roaring hearth. I can't imagine he's been hiding in a burning log this whole time, so where the fuck is he? Eru, I feel like I'm going mad already.

The cat assures me I am still sane,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I've been secretly chiseling a hole in the wall behind my favorite tapestry, which depicts a certain handsome red-headed Maia bathing in a lake of molten gold. It's far too beautiful to mar with dust, so I've been rolling it up and pushing it under my bed while I work.

When I tried to do that an hour ago, Iris stopped me. She hid beneath the mattress and kept hissing and batting at the tapestry as I attempted to push it past her. I didn't want her sharp claws to get tangled in the weave. Finally, I got annoyed and hung it back up before kicking her out of the room. She usually comes and goes as she pleases.

Of course Eönwë was standing on the other side of the door. I nearly threw Iris right into him.

My blood runs cold to think of him discovering the tunnel in the wall. I'd have to come up with a new escape plan from scratch. I owe dear Iris an apology and a pile of sardines.

After a terribly awkward silence, Eönwë said he wanted to clear the air between us. I told him I preferred the air dirty. He said he was sorry to see our friendship fall apart. I said he was the one who smashed it. We went in circles for a bit before he realized he wasn't getting anywhere.

As he turned to leave, he looked back over his shoulder and murmured, “You always seem to be miserable. Have you noticed that?”

I scoffed and slammed the door. Bold of him to talk about misery after getting me locked in here. I hope he never comes back.

On the bright side, my tunnel is rapidly approaching completion. I think I'm about two feet from freedom.

Damn Aulë for building such thick walls,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My tunnel dumped me out in a back garden under the purple shadow of the foundry. I was alone, but I could hear singing voices and the echo of hammers in the distance. It would have been a comforting sound if I were not a fugitive in my own home.

I ran north, past the willow grove, and stopped in the shadow of a large gray boulder. I waited. And waited. I'm not sure how long.

In the mixed twilight of the lamps, stars shine like chips of ice overhead, and every leaf is edged in violet and gold. I sat there and gaped in awe at the beauty of Almaren as if I'd never seen it before.

Then I got over it.

Then I got scared. What if he never showed up? I had no other destination in mind, but I couldn't stay here forever. Eventually someone would find me.

Then I got angry. How dare he make me wait? He'd promised he would be here whenever I finally made it out. But trusting his promises would be immeasurably stupid. He wasn't exactly known for his punctuality or reliability. Maybe he’d moved on. I hadn't received a note in a while. He'd probably forgotten about me by now.

These thoughts filled my head and muddied my heart. Eventually I knew it was over. I stood up and prepared to go on alone.

Then, of course, he spoke.

“Leaving so soon?”

I spun around. The bastard was leaning against a silver trunk, examining his fingernails. Eru only knows how long he'd been watching me.

“Where were you?” I demanded. My voice was furious, but there was no anger in me. I felt elated.

“Why? Did you miss me?” He crossed the distance between us in three quick strides.

At that moment I realized I'd made a mistake. I'd nearly forgotten who I was dealing with. Melkor, Lord of Darkness, was actually standing in front of me and all I could do was bite back a big dumb grin of relief.

He nearly got me then. But I stumbled back and shook off the madness that had come over me. “Did I miss being dragged back and forth between you and a few other egomaniacs? Are you joking?” His eyes narrowed and his face turned cold, but I kept going. “I mourn every minute wasted in your presence. You have no idea how much beauty I could make if it weren't for you fuckers holding me back.”

“I’m not the one who put you in a cell.”

I shrugged. “Melkor. Manwë. Same difference.” I've never spoken such blasphemy before, but damn if it didn't feel good.

“You have an issue with my brother’s rule?” His voice had an odd lilt that told me everything I needed to know.

I waved him off. “Sure, yeah. But I’m no fool, all right? You won't catch me that easy. I might not love Manwë, but I'm not delusional enough to think you're any better.”

“As you say.”

“I’m not,” I insisted, turning away. I felt he was mocking me, but when I looked back, I swear there was sympathy in his gaze.

“I have always found Manwë pompous and grating,” he said slowly, “but at least I am not bound by his power. I cannot imagine how much worse it must be for you. Will you tell me?”

“Why? So you can use it against me?”

“Because I'm curious. And I may be able to help.” He reached out and tucked back a lock of my hair in one smooth motion.

I froze. I couldn't speak. Something very strange and urgent and fragile hung in the air, and I knew one wrong move would shatter it. I felt like I wanted to scream or cry or fall to the ground.

He stared at me imploringly. “Well?”

Well. I told him everything. The party, the kiss, Eönwë’s betrayal, my indefinite detention, every detail down to the helpless rage I felt at watching it all play out.

He listened solemnly to most of it, though he did laugh when I recited the ‘Arda Improved’ proposal I'd given to Manwë and Varda. “I wish I could have seen it,” he murmured. “You might as well have spat in his eye.”

“I didn't mean to,” I said unhappily. “It wasn't supposed to be a joke or a spiteful jab or something. I just really think I could do a better job with … pretty much everything.”

“I believe it.” He shrugged. His cloak whispered like the wind in the trees as it billowed and settled around his broad shoulders. “But Manwë would not see it that way.”

“No shit,” I said. “I spent the past year in a cage thanks to his lack of vision.”

“I know an easy way out.”

“I already got out. No thanks to you.”

“No,” he hummed, surprising me with the sudden discord resonating in the earth under my feet. “I mean a way out of your bind. A way to restore your place in Almaren. Would you like to hear it?”

Of course I said yes.

After he told me, I asked, “Why are you doing this? Really? Writing all those notes, and giving me advice, and acting like we're friends? And don't just say it’s because I'm moderately intriguing.”

“You are very intriguing, flame of Aulë,” he said. That rankled, though I couldn't say why. “And we are friends. Aren't we?”

“You don't have friends,” I said. “You have thralls and thralls-to-be.”

“And which are you?”

“Neither. I'll ditch you as soon as you stop being useful.” I couldn't believe the words coming out of my mouth, or the confidence behind them. He could have struck me down that instant.

Instead his lip curled and his black eyes flashed in amusement. “Then I will endeavor to remain useful.” He placed one hand on the gray boulder beside us. “If you need my services again, leave a strand of hair on this rock, and I will return.”

“If your plan works, I won't need you again.”

“Then I'll leave you alone.”

I crossed my arms. “Swear it.”

“I have nothing to swear on,” he said. His voice was almost mournful.

“Chaos and discord?”

“They heed no oath.”

“The Void, then.”

“You’d have me swear on empty space?”

“Fine. Your name. He Who Arises in Might.”

“If I should break this oath, let me renounce my very name and title and relinquish all claims on Arda.” He frowned. “Happy?”

“Very,” I said, and left him.

And I feel free! Free of Melkor, free of my cell, free of fear. I'm writing this in a blackberry thicket outside the star halls. There is red juice running down my chin and staining these pages, but I don't care.

I’m free,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The plan worked. More or less.

I went straight to Manwë and fell flat on my face and tearfully confessed to all of the following:

-arrogance
-pride
-doing everything too well
-disrespectfully planning an escape from my indefinite house arrest without his permission
-acting like my opinions mattered
-talking back
-falling for Eönwë (not a crime, exactly, but it seemed to fit)
-lying
-seditious thoughts
-expressing vanity over my striking good looks
-being a bad, bad Maia

I told him just what he wanted to hear. I groveled. I begged. It wasn’t pretty. It also rang, in my ears, so transparently hollow and false that I could not imagine getting away with it. How could he be so blind as to believe me?

He bought it completely.

Something cracked in me at that moment. Any lingering trace of respect I had for Lord Manwë fell away. He is blind and deaf to everything but goodness and light. He has all the perception and cunning of a newborn fawn frolicking in a meadow. Farsighted, they call him. What a joke. Might as well place a rabbit on the throne and call it a hawk.

Manwë forgave me completely and raised me up onto my feet. I looked into his wide blue eyes and smiled, though my heart felt cold. It was just as Melkor predicted.

“It’s good to have you back,” Manwë said. “I feared the shadow was on you, and that my judgement had only driven you deeper into darkness. Now I see you have found your way home, and it fills me with joy. Without your pride, all that you do will be much improved. Your work will bring glory to Eru!”

“Indeed. Humility suits me well, my lord,” I said brightly. “Shall I return to my place in Aulë’s forges?”

He paused to contemplate. Perhaps some inkling of truth reached him, for he spoke slowly, studying me with a slightly furrowed brow. “No. Not yet, I think. We need time to mend what rifts remain between you and Aulë. For now, I will send you to maintain the Lamps.”

Lamp maintenance is dull, dreary, lonely work, half a world away from Almaren. It is entirely beneath me and my skills. A few years ago I would have said so. This time I gritted my teeth and bowed and murmured, “As you say, my lord.”

I figure I can weasel my way out of it after a decade or two of thumb-twiddling and cloud-watching. At least the view up there is better than the one from my window.

I’m back in my bedroom now, but I’ll leave for Illuin soon. The indignity of crying at Manwë’s feet still haunts me, but I can’t say I’m unhappy with how it turned out. My life is my own again. That’s worth any amount of fawning and scraping and biting my tongue.

As for Melkor—good riddance. I admit I may have underestimated him a little. Looking back on our conversation, it’s frightening to see how easily he slipped under my defenses. I suppose he’s had a lot of practice. Thank Eru he swore to leave me alone. I intend to spend the rest of my time on Arda avoiding him and his brother as much as possible.

Here we go again,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Made it to Illuin. Miles above the world, and brighter than anything I’ve ever seen. It’s cold, windy, and hellishly lonely, but setting all that aside, I quite like it. I'm basically unsupervised, and there are plenty of spare tools, workshops, and materials lying around from the early days of construction. I've been amusing myself by making a series of crude brass figurines representing the Valar. I've been saving Aulë for last, and I admit I’m greatly looking forward to smashing his face together. There's something very cathartic about the whole process. I put Manwë’s vacant effigy on the windowsill of my quarters, so he can gaze perpetually into the north and keep an eye on his brother. Just my little joke.

The only downside is Ilmarë. She floats by to examine our crew every once in a while and make sure no one's slacking. Last time she almost caught me rinsing my hands in Ulmo’s concave brass head. That would really throw a wrench in my whole ‘repentant and humble’ thing.

Looks like the starlight is leaking again, so I'd better get going. I didn't have much more to write anyway. Life is pretty boring right now, and I think that's a good thing.

May it stay that way forever,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My primary job here is mopping up spilled light. Aulë crafted the Lamps out of two massive, scintillating blocks of ice—Eru only knows where he got them—and they are perpetually melting. Every once in a while they spring a leak, and me or one of my coworkers has to patch it up and clean the mess.

Liquid starlight sounds very glamorous, but after carrying it around in buckets for a year or two, most of the novelty has worn off. The stains are simply impossible to remove. I've ruined three of my favorite robes since I started. They look like sequined gowns now, and alas, I would never wear something so tragically gaudy. I’ve been giving them to Arien just to piss her off.

See, most of the Maiar here are disgraced servants of Aulë or Varda. Either they made a stupid comment to the wrong Vala, or took artistic liberty a little too far, or disobeyed a strict order and got caught. Or all three, like me.

But Arien’s different. She actually volunteered for lamp maintenance. Naturally, that makes us enemies. So far we haven't progressed past glares and veiled insults, but the last time I offered her a star-stained red robe, she didn't even wait for me to leave the room before chucking it out the window. I'm still plotting the best way to retaliate while maintaining plausible deniability. I'd like to keep it subtle and indirect, mostly because she could kick my ass in a fair fight.

The best thing I've come up with so far is stealing her invitation to some kind of hunting festival run by Oromë. I found the envelope lying on her doorstep and snagged it before anyone could notice. Figured I might as well seize the chance to revisit Almaren and see how everything is going. Maybe I can worm my way back into Manwë’s good graces while I’m there. Stranger things have happened.

Ready for this vacation to be over,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I should have stayed on Illuin. Damn my perfect hindsight. Now I’m perched in the branches of a willow tree, glancing behind me every third sentence like a nervous owl. Don't need any more unpleasant surprises.

I showed up on Almaren just a little while ago, fully expecting to ride at a leisurely pace through the woods while taking potshots at ducks or rabbits or whatever. Guess I should have read the invitation more carefully.

As it turns out, this ‘festival’ is just Oromë's excuse to hunt down the monsters which keep crawling out of Melkor’s hole. Apparently they’ve been running rampant for a while now—mauling the natural animals, uprooting the trees, and disembodying Maiar left and right. By all accounts, they are extremely dangerous. I didn't intend to risk my fana on such madness, so I got out of there fast. Pretty sure Oromë has it covered, anyway; he rode off with a dozen hounds and a full retinue of spear-wielding Maiar. All in all, they made for a very impressive sight, with their horses stomping and snorting and their helmets gleaming in the dappled light.

Still. Had I remained in charge of the chasm project, none of this shit would be necessary. I would not have overlooked a single monstrosity of blood and ivory creeping out of the ground and escaping into the wild. Much less a few dozen. But that’s just me.

For some reason I felt slightly deflated after watching the whole party gallop away, so I went to grab a drink and ponder my misfortunes.

Ossë found me after my third cup and settled into the chair beside me. He carried with him the stench of seaweed drying in the sun, which I tried valiantly to ignore.

He asked how I'd been. I told him things were fine. He said he'd been trying to get in touch with me for a while. I nodded vaguely and tried to look apologetic. He suggested that we take a walk, and I went along willingly.

In truth, I miss talking to people who don’t hate me. They keep getting harder to find.

Unfortunately, after reaching the privacy of the gardens, our conversation took a swift downward turn and never recovered.

“You know, I was serving the Enemy myself at one point,” Ossë muttered, gazing into a goldfish pond and stroking his damp green beard. “I’ve been there.”

I froze. There were no good responses.

“And his mark’s on you, I can see that,” he continued. “It isn't hard to put the pieces together.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said.

“So you still think you can worm your way out. That's funny.” He spit into the water. Tiny waves rose up and crashed in concentric circles against the shore. The goldfish fled. “But I see what I see. I haven't told anyone yet, if that's what you're wondering, but I don't intend to keep silent forever.”

It became clear to me that I couldn't deny everything. “Fine, yes, I've spoken to him,” I hissed. “But only because I didn't have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“I don’t serve him. It was a temporary thing, and now it’s over. We’re done.”

“Oh, he might pretend that's true, and you might even believe it, but that's not how it works.” Ossë gave me a pitying look. I could have strangled him. “He’ll take it slow right up until the end. Then he'll wrap you up and drag you down into the dark.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Is that what happened to you?”

“Almost,” he said solemnly. “If it weren’t for Uinen I'd be gone. But I realized you haven't got an Uinen to pull you back, so I figured I'd step in before you hurt yourself.”

The condescension stung more than anything else. “I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I handled it. He swore he wouldn't bother me again.”

“And what did Manwë say?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“When you told him about your deal with Melkor. What did he think of it?” Ossë stared at me. His eyes gleamed like mother-of-pearl. “Did you even bother to mention it?”

“I’m sure Lord Manwë has more important things on his mind,” I said lamely.

Ossë just shook his head. His gaze never left me. I felt hideously transparent.

In the end he gave me an ultimatum: I would go to the Valar and explain my dealings with Melkor, or Ossë would do it for me. He generously offered me six hours to make up my mind.

What Ossë doesn't understand is that I've already burned up all my goodwill and more. None of the Valar will vouch for me this time. Not Manwë. Certainly not Aulë. Not even Varda, as much as I hate to say it. If they find out I took advice from Melkor, or brokered a deal, or protected his interests, I'm fucked.

As soon as Ossë was out of sight, I started running. I went straight to the gray rock and cut a whole lock of hair across it. Red strands everywhere. I've been waiting in this willow ever since.

Hope he turns up soon,
Mairon

Chapter Text

So. I may be slightly entangled with the Dark Lord of Arda.

I mean, this marks the second time I've sat waiting for him, counting the minutes and biting my nails and praying to Eru for his swift arrival. Which sounds silly, I know, but there it is. I was desperate.

He arrived more promptly this time. The sound of his voice nearly knocked me out of the tree.

“What exactly are you doing up here?”

He had somehow contrived to appear on a branch just above me. The edges of his black robe nearly brushed my shoulders.

I clambered up to a better perch, so we might see eye-to-eye. I did not intend to spend the whole conversation being looked down upon. “Waiting for you, obviously. Did you not see the hair I left on the stone?”

“I saw all of it, yes. I recall asking for a single strand, not the whole head.” He dangled a lock of my fire-bright hair between his fingers, tied in a loop and gleaming with strands of gold. “Though you honor me with the gift.”

“It’s not—I was in a hurry.” I could feel my cheeks heating up. Hope he didn't notice. “Look, I need your help, all right?”

“Three years ago, you claimed you would never need me again.” Melkor tilted his head. “I must admit, I expected you to change your mind, but not so quickly as this.” As much as he tried to keep a straight face, the smugness radiating off him was nearly insufferable.

I told him in no uncertain terms that my current predicament was his fault. Melkor was the one responsible for trying to corrupt Ossë and failing miserably. None of this would be happening if he'd done the job right. I admit I got a little fiery near the end. The stress was starting to wear on me.

Melkor told me to calm down. That was poorly received. I nearly ignited the tree we were sitting in.

“Fine. Put that out. You need not worry yourself. I have two possible solutions to your Ossë problem. You won't like either of them, but I promise you, they will work.”

“Well?”

His eyes narrowed into black crescents. “Before I tell you, I will need something in return.”

“Fine,” I said wearily. “But I won't fuck you, if that's what you're getting at.”

His eyebrows shot up. For a moment his face was truly blank, as if all the thoughts had vacated his head. Then he laughed like a jackal, scattering birds from every treetop in the vicinity. “That was not what I had in mind.”

“Then what?” I huffed.

“A simple exchange of questions.”

“Fine. How can I stop Ossë from snitching on me?”

He shook his head. “No. This time, I go first. What will you do when they find out?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It may take a year or a few thousand, but eventually our association will become clear to the Valar. One can't hide such a thing forever. What will you do then?”

I'd always figured I would get away with it. Someday, somehow, I would clean my hands of Melkor and never look back. The thought of getting caught was so terrifying, and the consequences so dire, that I couldn't imagine the outcome without flinching.

But he was right. This couldn't last forever.

“I don't know,” I muttered.

“Very well. Then I'll give you the first way to silence Ossë.” His voice took on a lilting, dreamy quality. “The way to Ossë lies through Uinen, for his wife often wanders alone through the marshes. When you next see Ossë, tell him he cannot speak of your transgressions to Manwë. If he should dare mention your name beside Melkor’s, then I will find Uinen alone by a stream. Her fair skin and flesh I will take in long ribbons and leave among seashells for Ossë to find. Long shall she scream in a cell of dry stone ere her spirit departs from the pain I bestow.”

“That's horrible,” I said. “I can't tell him that. What's the other way?”

“Ah, but I'll go first. What scares you most?”

I couldn't meet his eyes. What he’d just described had rattled me more than I cared to admit, and it seemed unspeakably foolish to give him any more leverage over me.

Of course I did it anyway.

My first thought was of the torment he’d just threatened Uinen with. But in truth, I could imagine something more frightening.

“To be trapped, alone in the dark,” I whispered. “And cold. Eternally cold.”

He smiled at me. His teeth glinted like frost. “How telling.”

“Now you go.”

“As you wish.” Melkor yawned. “The other method is to give yourself up and tell the truth before Ossë can do it for you. Explain our history, reveal the location of Utumno, and fall upon the infinite grace of Manwë.”

“But that's … they would kill me. I can’t.”

“Not so. You have the perfect excuse. I've been in possession of your melody this whole time. Tell them you could not speak out or your song would be destroyed. Show them your little journal if they doubt you.”

“What about you?” I protested. “Won’t you destroy me for telling them?”

“Not at all. I'm the one suggesting it, aren't I?”

“That doesn't make any fucking sense,” I said. “Why would you … I mean, you'd lose every advantage. They'd lay siege to Utumno by the end of the year. Do you want that?”

“Of course not,” he said briskly. “I'm simply giving you your options.”

We stared at each other across the three-foot gap between our respective branches. It might as well have been the whole length of the Void.

“You’re insane,” I said.

“Now you're starting to sound like my brother.”

“What do you want me to do?”

He slipped forward and dropped to the ground, landing just below me. Wordlessly, he reached up and offered me his hand.

And yes, I took it. I let him lower me to the ground and set me on my feet. And if he could tell I was flustered, well, so be it.

I watched him walk away.

Eru, what am I supposed to do?
Mairon

Chapter Text

I went with the first option. It seemed less messy than the alternative.

Ossë was furious. He asked what Melkor had offered me—power, glory, treasures beyond number—and assured me I would never receive it. Which irked me a little, because that bastard never offered me anything. I suppose I should have held out for a better deal.

It was not a pleasant talk, all in all. Ossë has been added to my list of people to avoid forever. I wish he'd just kept his mouth shut. He forced my hand, and now I feel grimy and permanently glum. Tainted by association.

About to depart for Illuin again, and this time I'm bringing Iris with me. I need at least one ally in this world, and I don't think I'll be visiting Almaren again for a very long time.

Good riddance,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I’m sitting on the maintenance platform above Illuin. Quite possibly the highest place in Eä apart from the inside of Irmo’s head.

The wind is unspeakably cold, so I'm wrapped in three layers of fur and silk. The view is worth it. All the world lies unrolled before me, draped in a blue haze under pale clouds and the crowns of mountains. If I reached up I could almost grasp a star and bring it burning down to Arda.

It's been a few years since I touched this diary, but none of the usual excuses apply. I haven't been busy. I haven't been trapped in a horrible loop of bad decisions. I haven't been imprisoned or exiled or betrayed. Hell, I've barely spoken to anyone.

I've just been doing my job, I guess. And thinking. There's a lot of time to think up here.

Mostly I've been thinking about Melkor.

Well, that's not exactly right. Mostly I've been thinking of ways to stop thinking about Melkor.

I tried exercise, but a brisk jog up and down Helcar’s ten thousand steps didn't seem to help. Neither did feuding with Arien. Or getting a letter from Eönwë. Or sculpting a marble bust of Eönwë and smashing it into a million pieces. Or drinking a teaspoon of starlight (electrifying). Or playing with Iris. Or waiting four years.

The truth is, I could wait another century, but I don't think it would do me any good. He's in my head, and he's not going anywhere.

It's terribly annoying. Almost reminds me of the early days, when I couldn't build a single hill without him knocking it down. He refuses to leave me in peace.

He is stubborn, most certainly. I can't deny his arrogance. And I don't think he really cares about anything unless it serves him in some way. He is everything I was warned of and more: cunning, manipulative, callous and cruel.

Then why, why, why, in the name of Eru, do I dwell on him endlessly? Why do I find myself blushing and smiling and kicking my feet like a lovestruck fool at the mere memory of our conversations? Why am I so stupid?

Ossë was right. This is what he does. He hunts for lonely, desperate Maiar. He acts like a friend. A confidant. He flatters them, consoles them, humors them. He speaks as if they were equals. He listens. He builds trust. He waits until they are completely beguiled, hopelessly enchanted, and then he pulls back the curtain. And then it's too late.

He almost did it to me. I almost let him. I knew it was happening and I still believed him!

Now that I've heard the Discord, I can't shut it out. How am I supposed to go back to Aulë and kneel before him when I've tasted the sweet lie of mutual respect and affection? How can I believe in anything anymore?

I fear I'm stuck like this forever. Half-corrupted. Too wise for darkness and too cynical for light.

All I do is run in circles,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Agony. Misery and murder. Depression. Despair. Betrayal most foul. What quisling, what bastard, what incoherent wretch saw fit to write into Eru’s music such a hideous melody?

Arien is singing. The sound comes through the floor of her room and the ceiling of mine. It drowns me in memories and other unwanted things. Twice I've asked her to stop, and twice she's gotten louder.

It is insufferable.

It is also, if I’m being completely honest, just a minor variation on the Music of the Ainur. I've heard it before. It's never affected me like this. If I had but a minute of peace and quiet, I could dwell on these facts and draw some unfortunate conclusions. But alas, the sound drives all thought from my brain. It's a miracle I can still write.

Iris has been similarly affected, I think, for she disappears whenever Arien raises her voice. I must find out where she's been running off to before my ears start to bleed. Hopefully it’s soundproof.

I’m out,
Mairon

Chapter Text

After so much time spent in the boring north, I'd nearly forgotten the taste of chaos. Can’t say I missed it much. It's sour and electric and lingers unpleasantly on the tongue.

There I was, circling the metal balconies of Illuin, covering my ears and cursing, searching for my missing cat. Still haven't found her, by the way. But I did spot something else.

Far and away, over the Iron Mountains, there was a dark blotch of smoke against the sky.

It was immediately obvious to me that someone had fucked up. I'd seen no signs of Utumno’s existence in all my time on lamp duty, and unless this puff of smoke was meant to be Melkor’s open declaration of war against the Valar, I imagined he wasn't too pleased about it. It would draw attention he didn't want. If anyone else noticed it, things would get very complicated very quickly.

I went ahead and checked all the north-facing balconies, but at that moment they were all empty. I was alone out there, with only the wind and the echoes of Arien’s music for company. What a relief, I thought, sagging against the railing. The smoke would dissipate soon and no one would know.

Then I turned south, and saw the rapidly growing light that heralded Ilmarë’s arrival. The timing could not have been more perfect. I wanted to scream.

Instead I went to greet her, and babbled profusely, and danced about like an idiot, doing everything I could to keep her eyes fixed on me. She looked moderately disturbed. I'd mostly avoided her on all her previous visits, and I suppose she was not expecting so much enthusiasm from a disgraced smith of Aulë. We are, as a rule, a dignified and stately lot.

She broke out of our conversation by insisting she had to actually do her job and inspect the damn Lamp. “I've got a full report to write, you know,” she said, “though I appreciate the … warm welcome.”

I followed her, flailing—verbally, mostly. “Why waste your time checking the whole Lamp? It’s the same as it was, I can guarantee that. Nothing changes up here. See?” I slapped the icy casing of Illuin and winced at the sudden cold. “Still in one piece!” My smile was deranged. “Don’t you think —”

“What is that?” she asked, pointing.

I turned my face reluctantly toward the north and squinted. “What? The cloud?”

“That’s smoke.”

“You think so?”

“It’s gray.”

“Could be a rainstorm.”

“Excuse me. I ought to go see where it's coming from.”

She stepped up onto the railing, and I panicked.

“No! Please, don’t go. I … I think that you should finish that inspection. I heard some weird creaking coming from Helcar’s base last year.” I tried to look worried. “If you give that a look, I’ll go and see where the smoke is coming from. Save you the trouble. How about that?”

Ilmarë hesitated.

“Most likely, it's just another forest fire that Arien set off by mistake,” I said. “She’s been doing that a lot lately. But I'll check it out, just in case. Okay?”

And it worked.

And now I’m back on the ridges of the Iron Mountains, back where the ice never melts, and I am heading north.

Not sure if I thought this all the way through,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It feels more like a dream than something that actually happened, but I guess I'll write it all down just in case I'm not hallucinating.

I went ahead and found the source of the smoke. It wasn't too hard to spot. Some idiot had blasted a castle-sized hole in the ground, cutting all the way down to the sea of magma, and the resulting landslide and collapse of half a mountain into the molten rock had sent up black plumes and fumes for miles.

It was terribly shoddy work. Infuriating to witness. I was close enough to the entrances of Utumno that I could spy the charred ruins of the old watchtower where I'd stayed as Melkor’s unwitting guest. He might as well have invited the Valar to his doorstep.

Something came over me then, a sort of blind rage. My memory gets a little hazy. I wasn't possessed, exactly, but I sure as hell wasn't myself. I remember running, and a blur of dull green. I distinctly recall a dark tunnel lined with silhouettes who insisted I stop. I did not stop. As I recall, I was yelling, “Where is he? Where the fuck is he?”

As I said, it's all a bit hazy.

Somewhere in the murky halls of Utumno, I'm decently sure I passed a few Maiar I know. Smiths, mostly. The dodgy ones, the ones Aulë didn't talk to, the ones I hadn't seen in an age or more. Not sure if they recognized me, but they certainly couldn't have missed my voice. My throat is still hoarse from all the shouting. But it doesn’t matter, because I kept going.

Eru, I'm starting to shake now. Only now! When I was there I felt no fear, even after I found him.

He was standing in a hall lined with columns of basalt, surrounded by wraiths and monsters and shadows with ember eyes. I suppose I had always known he had servants, plentiful and horrible, but I had only ever seen him alone. It was strange to hear him speak to an audience that did not include me. Strange and upsetting. So I interrupted him swiftly.

The crowd parted, or maybe I parted them. There was plenty of fire around me. That helped. The shocked eyes, the whispers, the scraping and scuffling all passed over me like ripples on a stream. I didn't care. I was incandescent.

I saw him—and he saw me. I had never imagined him so genuinely, indisputably, laughably shocked. Dumbstruck. For once, I did all the talking.

“How fucking stupid do you have to be to let this happen? Do you want Manwë sticking his head down here? Do you know how fucking inconvenient that would be for me? Just when things have finally settled down, you decide to start sending smoke signals and fucking up the geography of the only mountain range between you and Almaren? You’re lucky you didn’t whelm half of Arda in a fucking earthquake! You have no idea how lucky you are. I was the first one to see it. If anyone else had been out there, you would be fucked. You are absolutely … ”

At some point I realized I was three inches from his face, poking his chest with one finger as my reflection glittered and sparked and warped in his gleaming black eyes.

I shut my mouth. Total silence descended. Not a breath of air disturbed it. I swallowed.

“Yes?” Melkor asked, his voice threateningly soft. “I am absolutely what?”

“Just … don’t let it happen again,” I mumbled, and took a step back. And another. And another. But my eyes never left him, and his gaze never wavered. I couldn't read his face. I can never read his stupid face.

I turned and left the hall. I scrambled down dark passages and no one stopped me. I emerged into the light and no one called after me. I climbed up the north side of the Iron Mountains and no one followed me. And now I’m alone again.

Now I’m alone,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Told Ilmarë it was a forest fire. Went back to my room and collapsed onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. Two minor blessings: Iris was waiting for me, and Arien finally stopped singing. It’s all good.

I must be either the most courageous or brainless Maia in all of Eä. Perhaps both at once.

Indisputably,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Why can’t I just keep my mouth shut?

I've been trying to for a while. Nearly a year. I haven't argued with Arien, though the opportunities have been numerous. I haven’t lied to Ilmarë. I haven't said a word to anyone. And if I'm lonelier now than I used to be, well, it's a small price to pay for a quiet, peaceful life.

Caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror recently and was startled at the change. I look dull. My sleeves are ragged and my eyes darker than I remember. The funny thing is, I hardly care. Why would it matter? No one else cares how I look. No one cares that I've been stuck on a miserable lamp for nearly a decade. No one talks to me.

No one but him.

Ever since my little trip into Utumno, he’s been sending more notes. I burn them as soon as they arrive, but I can’t forget their contents.

We need to talk. You know where to find me.

I’m waiting.

What’s keeping you?

You cannot presume to lecture me and then ignore me.

What are you afraid of?

Mairon.

You can’t hide from me.

Don’t make me come over there.

I am only now completely aware of the peril I’ve walked into. Fitting that I’ve already burned all my bridges and trashed every escape route. I have no home to go back to.

So I sit and wait. He’ll show his face eventually, and I’ll have my one last chance.

It’s up to me now,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My vow of silence lasted all of two seconds after Melkor showed up. But it wasn’t my fault. The circumstances conspired against me.

He ambushed me halfway up the ten thousand steps of Helcar. I was climbing the tower slowly, lost in my thoughts and lamenting the weight of gravity. I idly glanced a little further up the staircase, noticed him, stumbled, banged my toe very hard, and yelled an insult I shan’t repeat here.

“Charming,” he said.

“Wasn’t talking to you.”

“Oh?”

“I was talking to the floor,” I said to the floor. “Bastard.”

I did not look up at him again, but I could hear his robe slithering over the ground, and feel the slight vibrations of each footstep as he approached me. It took all my courage not to step back. “You can’t intimidate me,” I huffed. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“You call this intimidation?” His hand reached out and grasped my chin, pulling my face up until I met his gaze. His expression was still and cold, or so it seemed to me.

“It’s a pitiful attempt, to be sure,” I said. “But by all means, keep trying. I know your game, alright? I see your clever little schemes, the strings you try to pull, and I laugh at all of them. I’m done.”

His smile was sharp. “You’ve said so before.”

“Yes, and this time I mean it. I shall never speak to you again.”

“You’re speaking to me now.”

“Only to inform you that this is the end.” I reached up, but he released my chin before I could pry his hand away. I settled for smoothing back my hair, eyeing him as I might a roach scuttling over my carpet. “You tried and failed. It’s over and I am not your slave, nor your puppet, nor your tortured wraith. Whatever you wanted from me, you haven’t got it.”

“Believe me, I am aware.”

“Then leave me alone!” I spat.

He paused, studying me. His face was blank. “You make such indignant demands after using a flimsy excuse to march into my home and chastise me as if I were your —”

“I didn’t —”

“You did. Your insolence astounds me. You are the only Maiar to enter that fortress and emerge unscathed. Not once, but twice. Did I force your hand? Did I drag you there, Mairon? Do you have any idea what you actually want, or do you blindly stumble toward it without a hint of comprehension?” I opened my mouth but he kept going. “Blame me for all your ill thoughts, if you wish. I’ll shoulder your discontent and malaise as if I were the cause and not the cure. Oh, how desperately you long to be appreciated! And how terribly awful I must be for concurring! What evil have I wrought in your innocent soul, you poor, humble servant of Aulë? Tell me that I might disown it. Tell me. Tell me.”

He was too close. The heat between us made the forges of Aulë seem cool. I wanted to lean forward, or to burst into flames, or perhaps to cry.

Instead I gave him nothing. I froze. I looked past him, because if I met his eyes or smiled or spoke I would melt and I couldn’t afford that. I was quite certain I would not get another chance to walk away.

“So you mean it,” he said heavily. “So be it. We shall not meet again.”

I bit my tongue as he walked past me. I wavered but I didn’t break. I should be proud, I suppose.

I feel nothing,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Iris is gone.

Chapter Text

So. My cat may be slightly entangled with the Dark Lord of Arda.

Upon rereading these pages it’s quite easy to see the link between them. I must have been blind to miss it. I am, as ever, a wistful idiot, for I still miss her. It is very lonely up here. And very cold.

I think I hate him now,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It's been a few hollow years since anything happened. Anything worth writing about, at least.

As evidence of my absolute boredom and isolation, I finally responded to Eönwë’s letter. We sent a few messages back and forth until he agreed to come up here and have a real talk.

I met him on the maintenance platform, the pinnacle of the world, which offered both privacy and a stunningly scenic view. He descended in a flutter of white feathers and landed a few feet away. Frigid, awkward silence descended with him. There was no easy way to break the ice. I’m usually good for a quip, at least, but my throat clamped up and all I could manage was a wheeze.

“You look terrible,” Eönwë said at last. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Very,” I said. “Thanks.” I was chilly, but it didn’t really matter. I’m used to it by now. There’s no escape from the wind on Illuin, where even the starlight feels like snow. I haven’t been properly warm for a decade. Haven’t glanced at a mirror, either. ‘Terrible’ sounds about right.

“You look the same as ever,” I said—though it wasn't entirely true. His armor had gone from ceremonial to functional, and the sword on his belt was notched and stained. But he had the same pale, pinched face and weary blue eyes.

We started with casual conversation, circling around the subjects neither of us wanted to touch. I asked how he'd been; he explained that the war was keeping him busy.

“So it's a war now,” I said cautiously.

“Has been for a while. Can’t you see it?” He swept out his arm. Below us, over the vast green shape of Arda, pockets of shadow dotted the land. I'd noticed them a few years back, but never paid much attention. They reminded me of things I didn't want to remember. “It’s getting ugly. I'd rather talk about something else. How are you? What have you been making?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

I shrugged.

“Then what do you do?”

“Sleep. Eat. Watch the clouds inch past my window.”

He surveyed me dubiously. “The Mairon I know would have built a workshop from scratch if he had to.”

“The Mairon you know is back on Almaren, stuck in the cell you put him in,” I snapped.

“Come on. That's not fair.”

“That’s what happened. Do you deny it?”

“I know you were never in love with me,” he said abruptly. “But I'm sorry for how I handled everything. I’m sorry for going to Manwë instead of talking to you.”

I wanted to stay mad at him, but he was so painfully sincere. I sighed. “Why did it have to be Manwë?”

“I trust him,” Eönwë said helplessly.

“Do you trust me?”

“I don't know. You deceived me. And the Valar.” He hesitated. “But I believe you had your reasons. I just wish you would tell me what they were. Why can’t you give me the truth? By Eru, what happened to you?”

I couldn't possibly explain all of it. But he deserved more than my deflections.

“I fell in love with an idea,” I muttered. Now I could finally confess how deluded I’d been before I came to my senses. “I knew it was a lie, and I thought that would protect me. But I ended up believing it anyway.”

“Did he get to you?”

The horror in Eönwë’s voice made me feel ill. I nodded sharply.

“Oh, Mairon … ”

“Don’t.”

“But —”

“I don't need your pity,” I said. “He failed. He thought he could turn me, and he was wrong. I told him to fuck off.” I did not mention the price I paid for my defiance.

A very slow smile crept over Eönwë’s face. “You did? Really? You said that to him?” Before I could react, he was crushing me in a hug. He stepped back, wiping his eyes and babbling with relief. “I knew you could do it. By Eru, I always thought you were the most fearless and stubborn Maia in Eä. Melkor had no idea what he was dealing with. He must have been shocked to finally meet his equal. Did he threaten you? How did you get away?”

I don't know why, but I felt terrible. The more Eönwë praised me, the lower I sank.

He made it sound like I’m a hero. I'm not. I tried telling him that, but he wouldn't hear it.

“You’re different, Mairon,” he said. “You've always been different. You can stand up to the Valar without flinching. You aren't afraid of them. You're the only one who could spit in Melkor’s face and get away with it. Don't you see?”

And I suppose that made some sense, considering my track record with Aulë and Manwë. But my last conversation with Melkor didn't feel like a victory. “If anything, it was a retreat,” I murmured. “I can't win against him.”

“You already did. Don’t underestimate yourself, my friend.” Eönwë put a hand on my shoulder. “You won. That gives me hope. Soon we'll find his home and root him out of this land for good.”

I was on the verge of telling him the location of Utumno. If he'd waited a moment, I swear, I would have found the words.

But he didn't wait. He left, and I didn't stop him. We both agreed it was a good talk. We parted as friends. I'd like to keep it that way.

He's given me a lot to think about,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Eönwë was right. I don't know how it didn't occur to me sooner. I am different. I'm not a coward. I can stand up to Melkor without flinching. No Maia I’ve ever met could rival me in sheer force of will. Or intelligence. Or good humor. I'm simply a cut above the rest.

I've fallen into this state of self-pity because I started doubting myself. I let the fear of Melkor into my heart. In my defense, he's cultivated a nasty reputation. The rest of the Ainur have only made it worse. Aulë, and Eönwë, and Manwë, and fucking Ossë—they thought they were doing me a favor by spreading his propaganda. Morons. In the end, I actually started to believe them! I believed Melkor was infallible, my corruption was inevitable, and no one could defy him and live. I believed he was the Dark Lord of Arda.

But he's not. And I'm the evidence. If he was so powerful and terrible, he never would have let me walk away. But he couldn't control me. He still can't. He pretends to be a king, but he'll never keep his crown. All he can do is cause trouble and chaos and hope his opponents are too dismayed and bewildered to fight back.

Well, he picked the wrong Maia for that. My last few decades have been a living hell, and it's all his fault. I don't intend to let him get away with it.

It's my turn now,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The bastard has disappeared. I went over the mountains but the doors are closed. Shades and fell things guard the entrances. Of course when I truly wish to speak with him, he hides away in a crevice. Of course he intends to make it difficult for me.

I won't give up. I will find him.

He cannot hide forever,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I never sent him a note in return. I tried that first. Didn't address them, of course, but scattered them over the rocky slopes around the Lamp.

I changed my mind. Can we talk?

So far, no response.

I admit my initial optimism was failing me. After plenty of waiting and seething, I went to the highest peak of the Iron Mountains, turned my face to the north, and spoke to him directly.

“You win,” I said. “I’ll join you. Just give me a chance.”

The wind howled in my ears until my skin turned red. I still haven't heard back from him.

It hurts to be ignored,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I returned to Almaren at last, after realizing what an idiot I've been. There is, after all, only one place he swore to wait for me. I hope his promises still hold true.

It was not a triumphant homecoming. To be honest, I hid from the sentries and crept here unseen, just in case. If word of my arrival reached Ossë I'm sure it wouldn't end well. And I'd hate to have Aulë on my case. Or Manwë. At this point, I'd rather come and go like a shadow than face any one of the (many) Ainur I’ve insulted, threatened, swindled, or otherwise deceived. Why complicate my life even further?

So I've done the deed in secret. A lock of my hair lies flat on the river-gray stone, under the shade of the willows where I've stood many times before.

He better show up. He has to.

I abide,
Mairon

Chapter Text

What a shitshow.

There I was, pacing and waiting and planning my opening speech—prepared for every possible question, every contingency. Or so I thought.

Then he arrived.

Not Melkor, alas, but Eönwë.

He descended in a flurry of white feathers and called my name. I waved and tried not to grimace. I don't hate him anymore, really—I'd go so far as to call him my only real friend—but his timing was spectacularly awful.

“Mairon! What are you doing here?” he asked, smiling. There was blood on his pale blue cape.

“I came to surprise you, actually,” I improvised. “But I didn't expect you to find me first. How did you manage that?”

“You shine like an ember in these leaves. You look like your old self again. Brighter. It's good to see.”

All of that was news to me. I stammered out my gratitude.

“What has you in such a good mood?” he asked, tilting his head.

I coughed, but before I could craft an excuse, my thoughts were cut short by a familiar chill. A deep shadow fell over us both.

Melkor easily could have waited until I was alone, but I think he wanted to rattle me. He succeeded. I froze in disbelief, listening to Eönwë’s frantic breath drown in cold, clamoring discord.

In that moment I loathed him more than anything. He stood between two trees, radiant with darkness, his head tilted arrogantly upward and his hair floating in a black halo behind him. To me he gave the smallest mocking wink.

My only remaining hope was that Eönwë might not recognize him.

“Melkor,” Eönwë said. His voice was strangled. “How dare you enter this sacred place, uninvited and unwanted?”

“Am I not wanted? No one ever informed me. Mairon, what do you think? Have I overstayed my welcome?”

“Stop,” I hissed.

“You wish me to leave? But I've only just arrived.”

He advanced toward us slowly. Eönwë trembled, but held his ground. His fingers inched toward his sword.

I stepped between them before anyone could do anything stupid. My eyes stayed on Melkor, but I spoke to Eönwë. “Go. Get out of here. I’ll handle this.”

“But —”

“Go!”

“I’ll get help,” Eönwë promised, and fled.

As soon as we were alone, I grabbed Melkor's collar, forgetting all my plans in a white-hot rage. “What the hell was that?”

“What do you mean?” He pried my hand off, finger by finger. It stung. “You’re the one who asked for this. You invited me here. Now you want to complain?”

“You could have at least waited until Eönwë was gone.”

“Why?”

The sound of horns echoed between the willows. They were distant, but drawing rapidly closer.

“Now we have no time,” I said despairingly.

“Time? What purpose would time serve? We have nothing to say to each other.”

“That’s not —”

“You declared it yourself, when last we spoke. Have you forgotten already?” He shook his head. “You’ve disappointed me again, Mairon. Do you think you deserve another chance?”

“Will you listen to me?”

He turned and began to walk away. I could already hear the baying of the hounds. “No.”

“Melkor —”

“I came here only to inform you that you cannot have it both ways,” he said over his shoulder. “I received your letters, your whispered messages, your fevered prayers. This is my last response: leave me alone.”

His voice was smooth and indifferent, but I swear I heard a ribbon of cruel anticipation running through it. He must have been looking forward to throwing my own words back in my face.

“Melkor, please.”

He stopped.

“The whole host of the Valar begged me not to break the world. They cried Melkor, please in one voice.” He shrugged. “But all their begging meant nothing to me. Why should yours be any different?”

“What did you do to my cat?” I didn’t mean to say that. It came out wrapped in an unexpected sob. Things were not going well for me.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

Melkor, the Dark Lord of Arda, the greatest evil in all of creation, let out a soft sigh. Or so it seemed to me, though perhaps it was only the wind in the leaves.

“She died when you crossed the Iron Mountains on foot, killed by your pride and the cold. She froze ere we first spoke, decades ago. Her body now lies under drifts of pale snow.”

“Liar,” I said again.

“I pitied you, flame of Aulë, and spared you from the truth. This was my gift to you.”

From the corner of his cloak, a black cat emerged. She was my Iris, or looked like her, sharp and graceful and darker than volcanic glass.

I wanted to hold her. I also wanted to scream.

“I took her back in anger, but it was a rash mistake. She prefers you, I think. Will you stop crying?”

I was on my knees, hugging a black cat, when Manwë’s host finally arrived. “He’s gone,” I told them. “Praise Eru, he’s gone.”

How lucky I am,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Finally wormed my way back into the good graces of the Valar. All it took was a long exile, a heap of lies, and a failed attempt to join forces with Melkor. The irony is astounding.

I mean, my intentions were good, but that hardly matters. I felt awful when he left. Even writing about it now makes me wince. It's been ages since I groveled like that.

My noble rescuers, Eönwë among them, have been singing my praises ever since. Supposedly I stood up to Melkor and held him off until reinforcements arrived. It is nearly the opposite of the truth, but it serves me well enough.

But what am I supposed to do now? I'm still in Almaren, back in my old chambers, with no orders and no plans to speak of. I wandered through the foundry, but it felt so small and empty. Even the fires burned colder. No one spoke to me, but everyone whispered. I don't understand how things could have changed so much in my absence. I don’t seem to belong anywhere anymore.

My main diversion is the cat. Melkor’s creature. I should have abandoned it immediately, I think, but it's far too late now.

I miss Iris. I can’t believe I killed her, even if it was an accident—an awful, stupid accident. I’ve never killed anything before. It feels horrible. I should have kept her warm.

But in truth it's hard to remember her, and even harder to reconcile her death with everything that has happened to me since. I only knew her for a year, after all—the year before I ran away from Almaren, the last quiet year of my life. It was not Iris who carried Melkor's messages and sat beside me in the tower of Illuin. It was her doppelganger. Melkor’s beast.

They do look remarkably similar, though I think Iris had greener eyes.

I carved her name into a river stone and left it on the hearth. I hope the heat reaches her somehow.

As for the feline that's followed me ever since, I am completely stumped for a name.

Will have to think on it some more,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Still haven't come up with a name for the cat. To call her Iris, or some variant, seems unspeakably cruel.

Locked eyes with Ossë earlier in the fields outside the halls of Nienna. I left as quickly as I could. Feel like a coward. What else is new?

Bored,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It occurs to me that the cat knows exactly how to find Melkor.

So I've attached a note to her collar. This one is a bit bolder than my past efforts.

I will be informing the Valar of your little northern project unless you have something to say about it. Twelve hours.

Waiting again,
Mairon

Chapter Text

No sign of the cat yet. It's been about three hours and all I've managed to do is drum my heels against the bottom of my chair, accidentally spill some ink on my hand, and compare the resulting blotch to a side profile of Aulë.

Not sure if I'll ever come up with a name as good as Iris again.

I must go wash my hands,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The cat came back without a note.

I paced. I deliberated. Twelve hours had long since passed by the time I left my room. Eventually I stopped in front of Manwë’s door, but I could not bring myself to knock.

It is so wretched of him to ignore me. Even worse, knowing he called my bluff makes me feel like a fool. How can he pretend I don’t exist? I remember everything he said and did. I remember how subtly he flattered me, and how insistently he followed me. For fuck’s sake, he gave me a cat!

Unless he knows I mean to deceive him now—and that would be impossible—how could he know? How does he always ruin everything?

Miserable,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It is my habit in melancholy times to sleep for a year or more. I recently settled down for such a rest, intending to wake up in a few decades with my spirit refreshed.

Instead, my sleep was rudely interrupted by a hand over my mouth and a voice in the dark.

“You dare threaten me?”

I will admit in these pages, if nowhere else, that my first reaction was relief. I must be a lunatic. Why else would I feel relieved to wake up to Melkor’s furious voice, or his hand squeezing my jaw shut?

Whatever possessed me in that brief moment, it quickly gave way to a more reasonable emotion: terror.

He was leaning over me, a black silhouette against the light slipping through the curtains. The shadow covered all but his eyes, where two spots of red glinted. For a moment I thought they were flaming, but it was only the reflection of my hair.

He spoke in a low, cold tone I had not heard before. “Did you forget so quickly that I hold your song?” His other hand crept under my neck. I could not move. “That your freedom is my gift? That you owe me all your life since the moment you fell?”

“No,” I tried to say. It came out as a wordless groan.

His grip on my mouth slackened for a moment. I inhaled sharply, still frozen in place, barely able to think. All I could focus on was the way his icy fingers tangled through my braid as he pulled my head back.

“I should kill you for your arrogance.”

“Do it, then,” I whispered.

It was a stupid thing to say, but at least it surprised him. He actually hesitated. I figured that was a good sign.

I kept perfectly still, supposing he could crush me between his palms as easily as I swatted flies. “Just give me a chance to explain first,” I said quietly. “Please.”

“Explain what?”

“I needed to talk to you.”

“Why?”

My plan for this conversation had not involved me sprawled flat on my back and staring up at the wrathful face of Melkor while I lied my heart out. Nevertheless, I tried to make it work.

“The Valar are hypocrites, and the world they’ve built is a fucking mess. They are blind fools —”

“You threatened to betray my fortress to those blind fools.”

A nervous laugh escaped me. “I didn’t betray you. I told them nothing! They still don’t know about Utumno.”

His eyes narrowed into slits. “So you hoped to manipulate me with empty threats?”

“I had to see you again. It was the only thing I could think of.”

“Stupid. Stupid and reckless.”

“Maybe. But it worked.”

His mouth twitched down. “Indeed. Is this what you wanted?” His fingers dug into my scalp.

“I wanted only to apologize and beg for your forgiveness.”

“Forgiveness? Oh, Mairon. You can't possibly expect me to believe that.”

It started to hurt. “I wanted to join you,” I said swiftly. “Please, Melkor —”

“Join me?” He shook his head. The pain intensified.

“Serve you! Let me serve you, Lord of Arda,” I pleaded. Tears welled in my eyes. “If you will have the dregs of Aulë, why not accept his crown jewel?”

“Is that all you are, Mairon?” He released me. In the sudden silence, he seemed to melt back into the dark.

I sat up. My breath came in shuddering gasps. “I could be more.”

“How much more?”

All the shadows burned away at once in the light of the flames dancing on my skin. “You would have to be an idiot,” I hissed, “to turn me down.”

He laughed. The sound echoed long after he disappeared. “As you say.”

He left me a note this time.

I'm scared to read it,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Return to Illuin and await my orders.

That’s all.

It almost feels like a joke, a sick test to see how long he can make me wait for nothing.

I would refuse it if I hadn’t already committed myself fully to this stupid plan.

Back to Illuin, I suppose,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I nearly forgot how much I loathe Aulë. Silly mistake. He was kind enough to correct it quickly.

I went to him asking for leave to return to Illuin. Such a request was a mere formality on my part. As a senior Maia of considerable skill and wit, my position is whatever I choose it to be, within reason.

“Absolutely not,” he said. “I forbid it.”

His scowl is nearly the same—a deep beetling of his brows into a blank, cliff-faced glower—but there is a little more weariness in it now. The war has shrunken him. They say of all the Valar, he has the most in common with Melkor, so I suppose he stands to lose the most as well. I almost would have pitied him if I wasn't so pissed off.

“Why can't I go?”

“Better to have you closer to home. You're a good smith, Mairon.” The compliment seemed to cause him physical pain. “I need someone like you running the forges again. Curumo only makes a fool of himself down there. He talks more than he hammers.”

“Ask someone else.”

“You were made for this. You can't run from it.”

“I'm not running,” I said hotly.

“There is nothing for you on Illuin. Your work is here. I've let you sulk for long enough, but it's time for you to use your skills on something other than frivolous waste. We need a host of fine Ainur blades every year. We need mail that won't melt or break in the heat of battle.” His palm slapped the workbench emphatically. For him, it was quite a speech.

“Good luck with all that,” I said. “I'm leaving either way.”

Aulë grabbed my wrist before I could turn to go.

“You’ve seen the Enemy up close. You'll do the work I require unless you want him even closer.”

It was meant to be an awful threat. I nearly laughed. I would much rather have Melkor three inches from my face than spend another minute in Aulë’s presence.

I should have told him that, but I wasn't quite brave enough. Instead I bowed and left silently, seething and plotting. Some years it feels like all I do is seethe and plot.

The thing is, he's always been like this. I just can't believe I used to tolerate it.

If all goes well, and I bring Melkor to his knees by spoiling his plans at the worst possible time, I shall demand Manwë grant me full freedom in return. No more answering to Aulë, no more begging for forgiveness, no more groveling and bowing to the Valian crowd. They have no right to order me around. I’ve been dealing with their godawful hierarchies since the beginning of time and I just can't take any more of this shit.

I'm fed up,
Mairon

Chapter Text

After the mandatory hour of silent rage, I went and found Manwë holding court with Varda beside him. They were both reclining on their lofty thrones, overlooking the sprawling expanse of Arda and the innumerable stars above.

Rather optimistically, I thought Varda might advocate for me. I took her presence as a favorable sign. Now I see my mistake. Manwë is clueless, and I'm sure his intellect is on par with the eagles he adores. Varda, on the other hand, has a functioning brain and a pair of eyes. She is therefore significantly harder to fool.

When I bowed my head and extolled the many joys of lamp duty, Manwë ate it up, but Varda frowned in perplexity. When I confessed my desire to return, Manwë grinned and clapped his hands together, but Varda arched a fine eyebrow in disbelief. When I told them I was ready to leave within the hour, she held up a flat star-ringed palm and asked, “Why?”

I began to repeat myself, but she stopped me. “There is nothing more repellent to you than the cold balconies of Illuin,” she said softly.

It was my turn to pull a confused frown.

See, I recalled speaking those exact words some years ago. On Illuin. Probably on a balcony.

As I watched, Varda pulled a stack of scorched letters from her robes. She opened one at random and began to read.

No issues so far, although the melt is accelerating slowly. Have increased shifts to compensate.

Mairon continues to complain loudly to anyone who will listen. He has wrapped himself in ten layers of fur and still seems to be cold, as he tells me frequently. His precise phrasing last time was: this place is chillier than Melkor’s — I shall omit the foul word he chose, but I am not pleased by his attitude. Additionally, I believe he has taken to stealing mail off my doorstep. I do not question your decision in placing him here, but I find his language repellent and have asked him to keep his thoughts to himself.

I realized two things at once.

One, Arien was a dirty snitch. I mentally added this to her long list of bad qualities.

Two, Varda had been aware of my misery on Illuin the whole time and done nothing about it. For some reason, that hurt.

And, of course, it revealed my entire speech as a sham. No matter how rapidly I backpedaled, I couldn't escape one fact: I had just been caught lying to Manwë.

It was not an ideal situation.

That was when Manwë, Eru bless his idiot soul, decided to interrupt my strangled silence by declaring, “I'm sure Mairon has a perfectly good explanation for this!” He looked at me expectantly.

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

Under the shriveling stares of Manwë, Varda, and a few minor courtiers, I coughed violently into one hand and racked my brain for something. Anything.

I was still fresh from my argument with Aulë, so that was the first thing that came to mind. “It’s not that I love Illuin, truth be told,” I admitted. “I simply can't stand Master Aulë any longer.”

Shock. Horror. I realized belatedly that no Maia had ever confessed to such a sin. Manwë was woefully unprepared to hear it. His vacant blue eyes widened in bewilderment.

“Why? Have you quarreled?” Varda asked.

I hemmed and hawed and muttered something about a minor argument. I couldn't do anything else. Explaining that I hated Aulë’s guts would have been functionally equivalent to slitting my own throat. They would have been equally aghast and helpless in either case.

There was just no precedent for a Maia to take issue with their Vala. It had to be temptations and lies from the Enemy, not just common sense and exasperation.

In the end I reneged. When Varda questioned me about the details of my spat with Aulë, I mumbled a petty complaint about the alloys used for a particular sword.

“You can surely settle that between you,” she said, giving me an odd look. “Which is more functional?”

“My blend favors flexibility, while his favors strength,” I said. “It’s a matter of priorities. Nothing more.”

“But you must not leave us over such petty squabbles, Mairon. We can find a way to move past it together,” Manwë said earnestly. “I shall speak to Aulë in your stead.”

I protested vehemently. I insisted it was nothing. I talked myself out of the whole thing and slunk from the throne room as fast as I could. The last thing I needed was Manwë interfering in my affairs.

Running regrettably low on options. There's just one thing I haven't tried yet.

Here goes nothing,
Mairon

Chapter Text

“Eönwë!” I said, with only a hint of desperation. “My dear, dear friend. How are you?”

I had one hell of a time tracking him down. According to the rumors, he was fighting in the west, then in the east, then recovering back on Almaren, then leading an incursion through the fiery pits near Ormal. I followed these reports in weary circles. In one particularly irritating coincidence, after spending half an age hiking out into the middle of nowhere, I spotted him flying overhead in the opposite direction.

At last I pinned him down in the armory of Manwë, between rows of gleaming helms and buffeted shields, where he sat polishing his boots. They were in dire need of a polish, seeing as they had been splattered with mud and blood and a green liquid I could not identify. Eönwë was, in fact, covered in mysterious fluids of various shades and hues. The splotch of violent purple on his shoulder was particularly intriguing. I asked him about it, but received no response.

He looked bad. Not just physically. His eyes stared in an empty way, as if the world around him was faintly transparent and only he could see through it.

“Everything alright?” I asked, a bit more hesitantly.

“It’s all a mess,” he murmured. “Every direction. It keeps getting worse.” For the first time he seemed to properly notice me. “What are you doing here?”

“I've been looking for you,” I said, concealing my impatience.

“Why?”

“To see how you are, of course.” I hesitated. “And to ask a favor.”

“What favor?” His voice was flat and tired.

“I need to resume my post on Illuin,” I said. Then, “Are you sure you're alright? You don’t look well.”

“Ask Manwë to send you back.”

“Manwë already refused me.”

Eönwë gave me a dead look. “Then I suppose you must stay.”

“Eönwë, please, you have to help me. At least try to convince him. He'll listen to you. He has to.”

“Why?”

“You're his herald! You've already been through hell on his behalf —”

“No, Mairon,” he said, sounding infinitely weary. “Why should I help you?”

I admit I had no good answer for that. “We're friends.”

“I have not seen you once since you arrived back home.”

“You've been busy,” I protested.

“Indeed I have.” There was a flicker of steel in his eyes as he turned his face toward me. “But you have not. I have been fighting a war decades in the making—a war that seems to trouble you not at all—while you sit idly in Almaren. What are you doing? I know you aren't in the foundry. Aulë has barely seen you. Your door is always closed.”

“I've been ... distracted, lately,” I murmured.

“Distracted by what?”

I shrugged helplessly.

If I had been a little braver, I might have explained my ultimate plan: spying on Melkor, gaining his confidence, and trading all his secrets in exchange for freedom from Valian control. But I suspected Eönwë might take issue with my methods or my goal. Neither sounded particularly noble, even in my head.

“Do you know what they’ve been saying about you?” he asked. I had no idea. “They say you won't speak to anyone unless you need something. You sleep under a black cloth for years on end. Despite your fire, your hands are always cold. When you think no one is watching, you stare longingly toward the north. And you obey no order, be it from Aulë or Manwë or Eru himself.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I used to argue against these rumors, but lately I find myself starting to believe them.”

Not entirely wrong, but the stuff about the black cloth and the cold hands was absurdly melodramatic. I opened my mouth to tell him so. Unfortunately, he kept going.

“They say, too, that your stand against Melkor was a sham; that you bowed ardently before him, and were still bowing when Manwë arrived.”

“That’s such bullshit,” I said. “Come on, Eönwë. You were there! You know that didn't happen.”

“You were certainly smart enough to wait until I left,” he said listlessly.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. Stands of armor surrounded us, but anyone might have been listening and watching through the cracks. Fear and twisted outrage lanced through me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Do you serve him?”

“No,” I snarled.

“Then where did you get that?”

He raised a pale finger and pointed at the black cat curling around my ankles.

I stuttered, “That's—that’s Iris. You gave her to me.”

“It is not Iris.”

“Eönwë, stop.”

“Iris had green eyes,” he said. “Those eyes are yellow.”

And so they were.

I reached out and lifted the cat into my arms. She felt fluffy and warm and surprisingly heavy. “You have no proof of anything,” I said coldly.

“I talked to Ossë.” His eyes were pale blue flames. Two spots of pink danced on his white cheeks. “When I first started getting suspicious. I didn't want to believe any of it. Do you know what he told me?”

I couldn't speak.

“Stay far away from Mairon. And so I shall.”

I let him shoulder past me.

I went back to my rooms and wept in rage, tore down the tapestries, and threw glass cups against the stone walls until I exhausted myself.

Devastation and doom,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The whole thing’s gone to shit. I drank myself stupid and threw stones at ducks until one of Yavanna’s Maiar shouted at me. Then I hid under a bridge, brooding and peevish, waiting until my hands were steady enough to write.

Now I’m just trying to figure out if I’m the bad guy here.

Outside of a few lies and threats, a couple of tantrums, a smattering of disobedience, and one or two dramatic escapes—all of which were fully justified given the circumstances—I'm reasonably sure I haven't done anything wrong.

To make things worse, everyone seems to hate me more now that I'm trying to do something selfless. It's so ironic I could almost choke. It’s not like I actually want to go back to fucking Illuin! It’s one of my least favorite places, even including those creepy trenches Ulmo scraped out at the bottom of the sea. But as soon as my plans rely on suffering through it, all of Almaren conspires to keep me away.

I could confess my failure to Melkor, but I've only just won his trust. I don't want to lose it over this bullshit. I would die of humiliation first.

I’ll crawl there if I have to,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I returned to Aulë, downcast and demure, with the very last scrap of my patience clutched in both hands.

He was working in the center of the foundry, surrounded by his smiths and pupils as he hammered out a spearhead. Their eyes followed me the whole time, I swear. Like they didn't have anything better to do.

“Master Aulë,” I said, “will you grant me just a little of your time? I'd like to speak with you privately.”

He grunted. That was all I got.

Fine by me. I lowered my voice and told him I had an arrangement which would please both of us, Eru willing.

He indicated with another grunt that he did not think such a thing was possible.

“One hundred swords,” I said. “My finest work. I will hone each edge until it splits a flake of obsidian. I will place in each pommel an exquisite gem from the roots of the world. No complaint shall pass my lips until they are completed.”

“Such miracles you promise,” Aulë muttered.

“No beast of the Enemy will survive a stroke from my blades,” I said evenly. “I swear. In return, when I’m done, will you let me go to Illuin? Please?”

The silence was unnatural. Aulë lifted his hammer over one shoulder and regarded me skeptically.

“Why Illuin? You belong to the forges, between fire and earth, not the cold and airy heights. Have you grown lazy already?” He brought the hammer down. The sound of metal on metal echoed like a thunderclap.

I bit my tongue. A fine flurry of ash spiraled around my feet and settled back onto the ground. “Those are my terms.”

“Two hundred swords.”

“Done,” I said quickly. I’d been half-worried he might ask for a thousand. I shook his heavy, sooty, calloused hand and didn't even mind that he nearly crushed my fingers.

Curumo caught my eye as I was leaving. He waved to me and, when I did not react, called my name until I had to acknowledge him.

“I can help,” he said eagerly. “I have been calculating the blend of iron and carbon required for a perfect blade. Would you like to see it?”

I let him show me around his workshop. I examined his charts and figures and almost laughed. It was all so pitifully basic. I intuited the same formula ages ago. No wonder Aulë wants to keep me around. I might be his only Maia who isn't stupid. How sad is that?

I flattered Curumo for as long as I could stomach it and then escaped to the cool, clean air of the gardens. I have finally allowed myself to feel relieved. Now the work can begin.

Two hundred swords to go,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Twelve. It took me a whole year to finish twelve swords.

My pace is absolutely horrendous, but I can't be blamed for that. Everything was going smoothly until Aulë demanded that I take on Curumo as an assistant.

Fucking Curumo. Give me a break.

He seems clever enough, with the long white hair and the deep, liquid eyes, but as soon as he opens his mouth the illusion is gone. He prattles on and on like I give a shit about drama in the smithy or Yavanna’s latest party, then has the nerve to look offended when I tell him to shut up. Furthermore, he brags constantly, and it's awful. Bragging is a hideously complicated art, and I'm the only one who's ever mastered it. To watch Curumo try is agonizing.

The worst part is, I think he genuinely wants to impress me. He's just not quite smart enough to realize that everything he says makes me want to crack his head open with a hammer. Calling him an ‘assistant’ is a bad joke. I wish Aulë had chained my feet together instead. At least the chain wouldn’t talk.

Inconsolable,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Convinced Curumo to do most of the work for me. Admittedly, the quality of each blade has plummeted, but the quantity has increased dramatically. We’re at a hundred and eighteen swords now, and should reach two hundred by the end of the year.

The labor keeps him from babbling on and on, thank Eru, but he’s taken to asking me endless questions instead. Normally that wouldn't bother me, as I adore talking about myself, but currently it's distracting me from my side project.

See, I decided to make a gift for Melkor.

At first I considered forging a ring or a crown, but both seemed presumptuous. Settled on a bracelet, simple and severe: a band of black bronze with veins of red opal. I’ll call it a ‘token of loyalty’ or something equally inane when I give it to him. Can’t wait to see the look on his face.

I almost forgot how much I love making jewelry. It's a much better use of my talents than this tragic parade of swords.

Of course, I'd be finished with both the swords and the bracelet already if I didn't have to deal with Curumo and his constant:

Where are you going? Why? What makes one opal better than another? Why do they have to be red? What's the difference between magma and lava? Have you ever seen a volcano up close? When? How did you learn to spin your hammer like that? Have you ever accidentally hammered your own thumb? Did it hurt? Is that your cat? What's her name?

I told him the cat was nameless. Then he started asking about her golden collar, and I ended the conversation swiftly. I had to lock myself in a spare workshop just so he wouldn't follow me in and look over my shoulder while I write.

Even now, I hear him pacing in the corridor outside.

Eru give me strength,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I sent Curumo to the mines a little while ago on the pretext that we were running low on iron (I’ve been hiding all the spare ingots in my wardrobe when he isn't looking). In his absence, I started working on the bracelet again.

Even unfinished, it’s beautiful. It looks like a plain metal band from a distance, but up close, the spidery lines of opal glow like rivers of magma against the black.

I was so focused on polishing it that I didn't even notice the Ainu behind me until he whistled through his teeth and said, “Now there’s a pretty trinket.”

I stiffened and turned. A Maia of Aulë was slouching against a clay pillar, watching me from a distance.

The shadow of the pillar fell across his face, but I still vaguely recognized him. Couldn't tell you his name, but his hair is an unkempt mane of black, and his eyes are cold and yellow. He walks slowly and speaks heavily. I'm sure I would dislike him more if I knew him better.

Before I could say anything, he cleared his throat and pointed to the bracelet. “Who’s that for?”

“Me.” I slipped it onto my wrist. It was entirely too big. “What do you want?”

We were the only Maiar left in the foundry; the other forges sat cool and empty. I sensed he’d been waiting to ambush me for a while.

He sidled toward me and said conversationally, “The boss wants to know what's taking you so long.”

At first I thought the boss was Aulë. My automatic response was to tell him to fuck off. My mouth was already forming the words before I realized how wrong I was.

I'm not sure what tipped me off—maybe his odious grin—but it seemed blindly obvious all at once: this was a servant of Melkor. A real one, presumably, not just an opportunist waiting for the right moment to double-cross him.

I knew Melkor had plenty of other Ainur in his service, of course. I'd seen them in Utumno, I'd heard the whispers, I'd witnessed the number of Maiar in Aulë’s forges dwindling year by year. Still, for some reason I'd never imagined meeting another turncoat in Almaren. It was a nasty shock to realize my position was not unique in the slightest. For all I knew, Melkor had been visiting me and this greasy little smith at the same time, trying to coax both of us into defecting simultaneously. The thought was inexplicably infuriating.

“If he has a problem with my pace,” I said, “he can come down here and tell me himself.”

The other Maia snorted. “Don't you get it? That’s why I'm here. So he doesn't have to do everything himself.”

And that made perfect sense. It just hadn't occurred to me yet. For some reason I’d assumed I would keep dealing with Melkor directly, the way I always had, but that was stupid. He couldn't give orders to hundreds of Ainur individually. There had to be some kind of command structure.

Which meant I had to answer to this creep.

“Believe me,” I said, “I will return to Illuin as soon as I can.”

“Make it sooner.”

I drew myself up to my full height and spoke in my haughtiest voice. “Do not presume to order me around.”

He licked his lips. “Or what?”

“Or I will have to inform Master Aulë that there is a traitor in our halls.”

“That goes both ways, idiot. If you sink me, I'll sink you.”

“Who do you think they'll believe?” I asked scornfully. “The greatest blacksmith to ever wield a hammer, or some chump who's been stuck building boulders for centuries?” That last part was an educated guess, but he did look like a typical member of the boulder crew: shady, dirty, generally unpleasant.

His stupid smile finally rolled over and died. His voice lowered. “Come on. You think they don't suspect you already?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You've been showing everyone your cards, Mairon. Don't act surprised now.” He spat into the forge. It sizzled and popped. “You should hear the shit they're saying behind your back … ”

I didn't want to hear it. I couldn't believe Melkor had left me to deal with this prick. I felt shamefully, horribly betrayed, as if the Enemy had somehow let me down. As if he was supposed to treat me like I was special, even after I bowed to him.

I don't know where all these ridiculous notions came from. I've understood his strategy since the beginning. He flattered me, he followed me, he wrote me little notes and told me he was sorry when my cat died, all because he wanted me to trust him. The game was over as soon as I begged him to let me serve. All he ever wanted out of me was another servant.

He is just a Vala, after all.

“Tell him I'll get there when I get there,” I said, and walked away.

Now the bracelet is sitting on my desk, taunting me. I very much want to smash it, but that's not fair. It hasn't done anything wrong.

I can only blame myself,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Eight swords remain.

They should have been done last year, but we were delayed by an earthquake. It ripped through the foundry and split most of the forges.

Incidentally, it also toppled the large gray boulder north of the willow grove.

It's hard not to see that as a bad omen,
Mairon

Chapter Text

We’re done. Thank Eru.

I went to Aulë immediately. Despite the sweat still beading on my brow, I felt cold and nervous. I was terribly concerned he might alter the deal at the last minute.

When I told him all the swords had been delivered as he requested, he folded his massive arms and gave me a classic Aulë stare. It was intense and entirely unreadable.

“I'm leaving now,” I said hopefully. “Thanks for —”

“I have another condition.”

My words caught in my throat. If he had asked for a single additional sword, I swear, I would have tried to strangle him. I was sick of him, sick of his foundry, sick of Almaren all over again. “What is it?”

“Curumo tells me you have been teaching him well.” Aulë scratched his nose. “You must take him with you as your apprentice when you depart for Illuin.”

If I had infinite time and patience, I would have argued until the stars fell out of the sky. But I knew well enough that Aulë could match me in stubbornness. Nothing I said would change his mind.

In part, I was simply relieved that he was still letting me go.

“Fine. Done.” I would ditch the sucker first chance I got.

“Good. The north is the right place for you now, I think. The war is creeping south. I want you to stay away from it.”

He paused. We looked at each other.

For a second I swear he was about to apologize, or express some kind of genuine emotion, or even let a single tear roll down into his beard. Instead, he said roughly, “Remember what you were put here to do,” and turned away.

“Sure.” I rolled my eyes. Never count on Aulë and you'll never be disappointed.

Can't wait to be gone,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Made it to Illuin. The place is a ghost town. Haven't seen anyone except Arien and Curumo. The former avoids me and the latter won't leave me alone. Perhaps this is Aulë’s idea of a joke.

I have been quietly awaiting further orders, but my patience is wearing thin. If Melkor doesn't get back to me soon I might just chuck myself from the maintenance platform and get it over with.

I swear the wind has gotten worse,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I discovered an unfinished chunk of scaffold clinging to the northwest face of the lamp. It can only be reached by climbing halfway up a rickety staircase, squeezing between two loose steps, and crawling over a single precarious plank that spans a dizzying drop of several miles.

On the other side is a cold, skeletal little room with no walls or ceiling. The floor is a series of wooden slats that creak ominously beneath my weight. I think it was intended to be a study, since the only furnishings are a chair and an ornate desk covered in bird shit.

It is, quite frankly, my favorite place in the world. It's the only place Curumo can't find me.

I’ve started keeping this diary here, in my secret office, just in case he goes through my quarters while I'm away. I wouldn't put it past him. Never met someone with such an absolute lack of respect for personal space, boundaries, or silence. I once woke up to find him standing in my doorway, whispering to himself. Eru only knows what he was saying.

At this point, my greatest fear is that he'll figure out where I've been hiding. If he spots me coming or going, I might actually have to kill him. I don't see any alternatives.

Arien already gave me a horrible shock as I was climbing out from between the stairs. I didn't notice her leaning on the balcony railing above me until she cleared her throat.

I went to her and begged her not to tell Curumo. I would have wailed and sobbed and kissed her boots if I thought it might help my case. Thankfully, she put a stop to all that and informed me she didn't care enough to rat me out.

It was the nicest thing she'd ever said to me. I pushed my luck a little and asked her where everyone else went.

“They went south, idiot,” she said, which was slightly less nice.

“Why?”

“Have you looked south recently?”

I’d glanced, certainly, but I hadn’t really looked. My gaze was always drifting back north.

So I turned and gave it my full attention. I peered into the misty golden haze floating around Ormal. The light was nearly blinding, but around the base of the lamp I saw —

“What the fuck is that?”

“The front line,” Arien said dully.

There was a ring of fire around the tower.

It was still many miles distant from Ormal, but seemed to tighten imperceptibly under my horrified gaze, like a noose on the throat of Ringil.

I’d heard plenty about the war, of course, but it had never truly touched me until now. Empty years seemed to wither away in the heat of those flames. I’d wasted so much time.

“They’re attacking the Lamp,” Arien said. “You didn’t know?”

I shook my head queasily.

“You must be blind,” she muttered.

I couldn't argue with that. Now I finally see what I'm dealing with. This is what Melkor wanted. This is what he's been planning the whole time. This is what I should have been fighting against from the beginning.

All I can do is watch,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It just keeps burning. The whole south must be choking on the smoke. I thought I saw a break in the flames for a moment, but I was mistaken. They've only gotten higher and brighter since my last entry.

The ring of fire has infected me with some kind of madness. I can't look away. Twice now I've written the same letter, which goes something like this:

Esteemed Lord Manwë,

The Enemy’s fortress lies under the Iron Mountains. I would gladly show you the exact location and help you root out the evil therein. All you have to do is ask.

Your humble servant,
Mairon

But I'm too paranoid to send it. Twice now I’ve incinerated the paper and reduced the message to ash. I’m so afraid of making things worse.

It's possible—not likely, perhaps, but possible—that Melkor foresaw all of this and planned for my interference. There's a small chance Manwë might storm the halls of Utumno and find them abandoned, while Melkor laughs and Ormal falls in the distance. It's not worth the risk.

But I have to do something. I can't just sit here helplessly as he lays siege to half the light in the world. The balance of Arda is shifting beneath my feet and I don't like it.

I wish it was over already,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My life has become so terribly bleak that I've started having conversations with Curumo voluntarily. As far as coping mechanisms go, it's just one notch below deserting my fana and sublimating into a gas.

Which is to say, it's not ideal, but there is so little else to do up here. Watching the creeping fires of the war is tragically boring. Lamp maintenance is both exhausting and tedious, and Arien handles most of it anyway. I would spend more time writing, but there's nothing to write about. Once again, I am reminded of how much I fucking hate this place. Nothing interesting has happened in years except for a very stupid swan flying directly into a bucket of starlight and knocking it over. That horribly tacky glowing bird kept me amused for about half an hour before I lapsed back into depression.

Finally, at my lowest point, I found Curumo and said I would teach him whatever he wanted to know.

His smile was nearly as bright as the damned swan. I immediately regretted everything.

See, he just doesn't get it.

I tried to explain how I sharpen a blade until the cutting edge is thinner than the finest hair. I demonstrated the precarious art of suspending stardust in cold air and trapping it within a bubble of blown glass. I folded a song between two sheets of silver. I poured the blue out of a sapphire.

It was a lovely diversion from all the doom and gloom, but my efforts were wasted on Curumo. He rattled off questions I had already answered, blinking quizzically as I repeated myself. He dulled the blade, broke the glass, forgot the song, and fumbled the sapphire. It bounced twice and rolled off the edge of the tower. We never heard it land.

I have persevered only because my own ego takes some pleasure in watching him fail, however pathetic that might sound.

Besides, it’s better than thinking about Melkor—the reason I'm here, the reason Arda is burning, the reason everyone hates me. If I spend another second dwelling on him I might start screaming and never stop.

When I put it like that, Curumo doesn't sound so bad. After a few decades or so I might actually convince myself that I enjoy his company.

It hasn't happened yet,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Sloth overcame me. I spent long hours lying prone in my quarters, unable to sleep and yet never fully awake. The cat was my only solace. She licked my hands with her rough little tongue and batted me without provocation. Her ears are as soft as a fine silk glove. I would die for her.

My latest delirium was interrupted by a rapping on the door. I knew from the lightness and impatience of each knock that it had to be Curumo.

“Go away.”

His voice was plaintive. “But Mairon, we have a visitor from Almaren! He says he wants to see you.”

Curiosity forced me to stand. The cat was using my cleanest robe as a bed, so I grabbed the second-cleanest robe off the floor. In the right lighting, one can hardly see the stains.

When I emerged from my den, blinking in the abysmally cold light of Illuin, Curumo pointed toward Arien’s room. “He’s in there.”

Immediately, I knew something was wrong. The whole hallway reeked of smoke. A wall of solid heat kept us from entering the open door. Inside, Arien was on fire. Her skin glowed so red-hot that my eyes burned to look upon her. I had always considered myself the brightest flame to grace the halls of Arda, but she made me look like a shitty candle in comparison. It was embarrassing.

Standing across from Arien was the dark Maia I had encountered in the foundry. The one who worked for Melkor.

I froze, feeling caught, though neither of them were looking at me. Arien spat a string of furious curses capped by a firm, “Never.”

The traitorous Maia slouched against the wall. He seemed remarkably unconcerned by the inferno burning just a few feet from his face. “Manwë signed the order. Are you planning to ignore him?”

Whatever argument they were having, Arien was clearly losing. Showers of sparks rolled off her in waves. “No, but —”

“Then go. They need you in the south.”

“They need me here.” She glanced over and noticed me and Curumo for the first time. She flung a hand toward us. “I can't put the Lamp in the care of these imbeciles!”

The other Maia shrugged. “It's all about priorities. Maybe you decide to stay, because you know better than Manwë Súlimo. But you ought to understand that's a dangerous road to follow.”

“I think we would do a good job,” Curumo whispered to me. I ignored him.

“Would you like to see the letter?” the Maia asked easily, pulling a roll of paper from his pocket. “Just don't burn it, now.”

Degree by degree, Arien cooled. She reached for the paper and scanned over it.

“Makes no sense,” she muttered.

“Of course not. You’re trying to understand the thoughts of a Vala. But you’re only a Maia, see? It can't be done.” He tapped his forehead. “Go south and fight well. That's all you have to know.”

I loathed him, honestly, but at least he was telling Arien to leave. I wouldn't miss her at all. Her shoulders slumped as the cold crept back into the room. An unwarranted smile tugged at my lips.

“Oh, Mairon. They told me you were slumming it up here,” the Maia said, fixing his baleful yellow gaze on me. “Got something for you too. From the boss. Here.”

I couldn't believe how openly he said it. Suppressing a wince, I snatched the envelope from his dirty fingers.

It was already open.

“Did you read it?”

He chuckled. “Believe me, I'm not interested in reading your mail.”

He definitely read it.

Curumo was staring at me, so I pocketed the letter. My heart hammered wildly. Surely these were the instructions I'd been waiting for. I couldn't imagine what Melkor wanted from me, but at least I would finally know. I had wasted too many years on waiting.

“That’s all for now,” the dark Maia said gravely. “Let's hope this war ends soon, eh?”

He winked at me and sauntered away down the hall.

I kept one hand in my pocket the whole time, as if I might determine the message by tracing the ink with my fingertips. It was all I could think about, even while Arien cried and packed her things and rapidly lectured us on the nuances of lamp maintenance. Hopefully Curumo was taking notes, because I wasn't paying attention to any of it.

When Arien departed, I already had a strategy in mind. No matter what Melkor’s orders were, I would share them with Manwë and Varda immediately.

Well, maybe just Varda.

We could figure out how to sabotage Melkor together. I’d prove my good intentions and take revenge for all the bullshit he put me through. I would finally win. Eru, I so badly needed a win.

By the time I opened the envelope and read the message therein, I was giddy with anticipation.

The note was written in a hasty, jagged hand on a scrap of thin paper. The edges were torn and singed. It looked like an afterthought. There were only two words on it:

Patience, flame.

Incandescent,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I have a problem.

[The word ‘Melkor’ has been written and crossed out several times.]

I tried for so long to pretend otherwise, but I have to face it. I can't lie to myself any longer. At least in these pages, I'll say it: no cure exists for the sickness he's given me. I cannot recall a time when my life did not revolve around him. This isn't entanglement; this is obsession.

It's so fucking boring. I know I'm getting played. I can see it happening. It's pathetically, tragically obvious.

Every time I hear his name, something in me shivers delightfully, as if I'm waiting for good news. Every time he sends me a note, no matter how brief or cryptic or infuriating, I feel blessed, as if it's my good luck to receive his curt messages. Every time I see him, I feel warm. I feel satisfied, like his presence is all I ever hoped for.

When I think back on our conversations, even the hostile ones, inevitably I am wistful. Nostalgic.

I want to see him again.

I know it's a losing game. I hate him for making me play it. I hate him more than anything, more than the rest of the Valar combined, more than myself.

But I can't make it stop.

Even if I catch him in a trap, double-cross him, and walk away, he'll still be in my head. Even if I go back to Almaren, I can't stop myself from thinking about him. Dreaming about him.

Every little thing is so clear in my memory: his voice (now deep and still, now softly amused, now scathing) and his eyes (like polished volcanic glass) and his long, black hair fraying into shadow. Even the way he stands, regally but heavily, as if his head bears a great weight.

But this is Melkor. Madness and death. Any positive feelings I have—any affection—any desire—can never be returned. He is incapable. I'm almost certain.

Almost.

I have been driving myself insane trying to reason with my heart. I have been looking for proof.

If I had definitive evidence that he never cared about me—that I was only ever a target, a mark, another Maia for his collection—then I could let all this insanity go and move on. Swear to Eru.

But when I search for that evidence, my treacherous mind finds the opposite: various reasons to believe he does care about me. All I can do is refute the points as they come.

-Point: He saved my life
-Counterpoint: He protected a potential asset

-Point: He let me go
-Counterpoint: He knew I'd be back

-Point: He helped me with Ossë
-Counterpoint: He wants me in his debt

-Point: He made me soup
-Counterpoint: I’m stupid

It goes around in circles until I want to throw up. No matter how much I think about it, I still can't figure it out.

Because he also gave me a cat. And that just doesn't track. No matter how cunning and clever he might be, I can't imagine that as a piece of calculated manipulation. It's too earnest, too clumsy and weird.

It only really makes sense if he found out about Iris and felt bad for me.

But pity alone doesn't make him trustworthy. It's just a feather on the scale.

I can't continue in this state. I’m afraid to believe anything. I need answers before my brain splits in half.

So I wrote him another note.

Melkor,
Stop being a fucking coward and come talk to me or it's over.
-Mairon

It's a little more aggressive than my usual approach, but at this point, I just want results.

I tucked the message into the cat's collar about ten minutes ago. She was oddly reluctant to leave. I had to push her out the door.

Hope she finds him quickly,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The cat did not return for a long time.

She's sitting on my lap now, rumbling gently. I'll try to write everything down exactly as it happened, though it's hard to keep it all straight in my head. I won't let him rush me. He owes me this.

And I might as well start with the bucket.

It was the end of another long, cold year. I had been hauling starlight for hours, staggering up and down the tower, barely keeping up with the steady dripping from the bottom of the lamp. I can't describe much about my state of mind. I was thoroughly numb, inside and out. It felt like there was nothing left for me to say or do. I walked the same path over and over and tried my best not to remember anything.

Right when I reached the maintenance platform at the very top of Illuin, one of the buckets sprang a leak.

My boots were instantly soaked in cool, luminescent silver, and thus ruined. Normally I would have cursed or thrown the offending bucket off the tower, but at that moment I couldn't muster a sigh, even as I watched the spill dribble down between the steps and freeze into dozens of icy puddles.

I knew from experience that starlight was deadly slippery. One wrong move and I'd go sliding right off the edge of Illuin and plummeting toward annihilation. I wasn’t quite ready for that yet, so I moved at a glacial pace. The descent cost me a minute for every foot. The wind picked up and pierced my sodden boots like a thousand needles. By the time I reached the bottom, I was frostbitten and trembling. I wanted nothing more than to slink back to my bed and bury myself in a thick blanket for a few centuries.

My eyes were still fixed on the ground when I stumbled into the trap.

It started with a sharp snap, followed by a dull thud and the sudden appearance of a dozen vertical bars right in front of my nose.

I was surprised and sluggish, but as I turned in circles, it became increasingly obvious that I’d been boxed in. I was standing in a cage less than five feet across. This was not a good sign.

It quickly got worse.

Curumo stepped into view across from me, standing on the slim bridge that led toward the living quarters.

He was holding a black cat.

“What the hell, Curumo?” I said. My teeth chattered with the chill, so it came out more frantic than I’d intended. “What are you doing with my cat?”

He looked at me strangely. I’d never seen dismay in his eyes before. In my head, something very fragile tipped, fell over, and shattered. Must have been an illusion.

“I didn’t think it was true,” he said quietly. “I really didn’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Wait,” I said. “Wait, what do you mean? Are you —”

“Hello, Mairon,” Eönwë said, rudely interrupting me in the middle of a thought.

He’d snuck up behind me. When I twisted around, he looked surprisingly clean. The guts and ichor were gone. His armor was polished, his cape was white, and his sword was wicked sharp.

He was holding it in his right hand, pointing it down toward the floor. I watched the tip carefully.

“Always a pleasure, Eönwë,” I said. “What is the meaning of this?” I tapped one of the bars with my fingernail. It had the resonance of solid iron, but there was a nasty enchantment woven into the carbon. It had to be Aulë’s work. Another bad sign.

“I think you know.”

Yes, I did.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I said, trying to cover my discomfort with a forced laugh. Again, my shivering ruined it. I sounded slightly maniacal and entirely afraid. “I’ve been on lamp duty for ages. What’s going on?”

“You can leave now,” Eönwë murmured. His gaze was on Curumo. “Thank you.”

And Curumo, that snake, that quisling, that absolute weasel, nodded and set my cat down. “Sorry,” he said, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Curumo, please, what’s going on? Don’t leave now. Where are you going? Curumo!”

He scurried away. I couldn’t believe how bad it felt to watch him go.

“You wrote this,” Eönwë said, drawing my attention back toward him. In his off hand, he held a folded bit of paper.

I admit it looked vaguely familiar. “You can’t prove that.”

“It has your name on it. Shall I read it?”

“Don’t bother,” I said. “I know—look, Eönwë, of course I know how this looks. And I know you don’t like me anymore. That’s fine. But you have to believe me. It’s a trick. I’m double-crossing him! I’ve been pretending to work for him, but I would never really turn like that. Come on. You know me.”

I was fully aware this sounded like the worst lie in the history of Arda. Each word pained my tongue. But I thought if I could infuse it with true, earnest feeling, it would reach him no matter what barrier stood between us.

As usual, I was very wrong.

“Mairon of Aulë, you have been witnessed consorting with the Enemy,” Eönwë said, adopting a smooth, businesslike tone that did not suit his piercing eyes. “Your judgement by the Valar has been postponed due to the war, but I will ensure you do not escape it. Lord Námo will declare your doom when the forces of Melkor are—will you please stop laughing?”

I could not. It was simply too funny. I sank to the ground, pressing my back against the freezing iron bars. “Witnessed by Curumo,” I muttered, wiping away tears. “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Sadly, I cannot say this comes as a surprise,” Eönwë said. “The Mairon I once knew is long gone.”

“No shit. How do you think I ended up in here?” I stared at him incredulously. “Do you think this was a lark? I’m only sitting in a cage right now because your precious fucking Valar —”

At once he was pressed against the bars. The sword slipped between them and hovered just in front of me. I squinted. It looked like one of mine.

“Do not speak of them,” he said. “You aren’t worthy of it.”

“Fine by me. We can talk about something else.”

He pulled the sword back and briefly ducked his head. A flash of the old Eönwë emerged in his poorly disguised embarrassment. He knew he’d overreacted. His cheeks were pink.

Maybe I still had a chance.

“At least get me a blanket or something,” I said, glancing toward the southern horizon. The fires had reached the pillar of Ormal. Red light mingled with gold. “We might be here a while, and I’m freezing.”

He nodded briskly. “Very well. Before I go, I must warn you that these bars will not melt.”

“I’m not going to burn my way out, Eönwë,” I sighed. “But thanks for the tip.”

I tested his claim as soon as he was out of sight. Unfortunately, he was right. Even with all my fire concentrated in the center of my palm, the iron refused to bend. I briefly considered blazing through the wooden floor before I remembered the devastating drop waiting for me on the other side.

So a prison break was out of the question, at least for now. That left playing on Eönwë’s emotions and winning my freedom through cunning and deceit. But Eönwë was already expecting that, which made it a lot harder. I tried to remember some of Melkor’s tactics; they’d clearly been very effective.

Despite the decline in my prospects, I felt a strange sense of peace. Everything was so simple now. For once, I knew exactly what I wanted: a way out of the cage. The rest could wait.

Besides, the cat was back.

She sat on the other side of the bars and stared at me cooly, as if I was acting incurably foolish. I probably was. I reached out to scratch her chin, but she batted my hand away.

“I’m sorry I let Curumo get you,” I said. “That’s my bad. It won’t happen again.”

She tilted her head and blinked slowly.

“Can you talk?” I asked, feeling rather surprised that I had not considered this possibility before.

She yawned. Her teeth were blinding white. “Melkor is coming here,” she said in a small, raspy voice.

I tried and failed to interpret this as a piece of bad news. Despite the biting wind and the heavy, liquid starlight still drenching my feet, I felt a sudden and unshakeable warmth. It started in my frostbitten toes and spread over me slowly and pleasantly, thus confirming my insanity. He was coming here. I would see him again. Joy and triumph.

But all I managed to say was, “Fucking hell. Could you do that the whole time?”

Her tail flicked back and forth in annoyance, and she stalked away. I was left staring after her and trying to figure out what I could possibly tell Eönwë. Anything starting with ‘the cat informed me’ was not likely to work.

By the time he came back with a blanket, I had concocted a mediocre plan.

“Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet and pulling the blanket through the bars. It was one of those horribly itchy ones with hideous green and yellow stripes. It felt like an insult, but I valiantly rose above it. “Eönwë, I have to tell you something.”

He was the picture of apathy. “What?”

“Melkor is on his way.”

He got the wrong impression and started glowering. “If you think you can threaten me —”

“I’m warning you,” I said, “because I’m not working for him. For fuck’s sake, Eönwë, I’d let him ambush you if I truly didn’t care.”

“How could I possibly trust you after what you’ve done?”

“It was one kiss.”

“That’s not what I’m referring to.” His eyes glistened. “How could you, Mairon? How could you agree to serve him? I thought you were better than that.”

“Eönwë, buddy, listen to me,” I said, lowering my voice. I thought I was lying at first, but even as I spoke, I realized my words had to be true. It was the only thing that made sense. “Ormal is just one half of his plan. Illuin is the other. He’s coming here to destroy the Lamp. He knows there’s no one left to protect it. You have to get out of here and warn them. Tell Manwë and Oromë and anyone else you can find. There might still be time.”

“You want the Valar to abandon the south and let Ormal fall? How stupid do you think I am?”

“It’s the only way to stop him.”

“Why would you betray him now?”

“I’ve been planning this the whole time,” I cried. Which was mostly accurate, give or take a few moments of madness. “This is the only thing I wanted. I swear.”

“Sure.” He still didn’t believe me.

“What if I had proof?”

“What proof could you possibly offer me? Everything you say is tainted.”

I closed my eyes. There was only one answer, really.

Before I could think better of it, I told him the location of this diary, which was still hidden away in my secret office on the other side of Illuin.

Then I hesitated.

“Just … try not to judge me too harshly. It hasn't been easy for me.” I gave him a wan smile. “I guess it hasn't been easy for either of us.”

My attempt at camaraderie did not seem to reach Eönwë. His expression was high and remote. He left in a flutter of white feathers.

When he came back, he was holding my diary in both hands. Frost etched pale fractals on the rose gold cover. I swallowed.

“You don't need to read the beginning,” I suggested, “or the middle, really. Just the end. But not the very end. I can give you some dates to flip to —”

“I'm reading all of it,” he said, taking a seat on the lowest stair. The wind didn't seem to bother him at all.

Given my position, arguing was pointless, so I covered myself with the blanket and settled in for a long, agonizing wait.

His face betrayed nothing as he paged through it slowly. I was troubled by vivid, unwanted memories of every embarrassing, silly, proud, cruel, pathetic thing I'd ever written down. My entire history with Melkor was there, in plain ink, and it was not particularly flattering. With each passing minute, I felt a little more nauseous. The ramifications hit me slowly and heavily and far, far too late.

I’ve always worried that anyone reading my diary would see me for exactly what I am, perceiving the petty wretchedness of my soul through the armor of my beauty, skill, and charm. I thought no one could possibly like me if they really knew me.

So when Eönwë reached the final entry and looked up, and there was nothing but contempt in his gaze, I took some solace in being right.

“So, what do you think?” I asked weakly.

“It sounds like you're in love with him.”

“No.” I held up a warning finger. “I never used that word.”

He flipped dismissively through the pages. “You reference affection. And desire.”

“Ignore that,” I said fiercely. “It wasn't meant for you. Didn't you read about my plan? About how I've been risking my skin and lying to Melkor this whole time?”

“Indeed.” He frowned thoughtfully. “More than anything else, it struck me as a convenient excuse for you to see him again.”

“An excuse? Why would I need an excuse? It’s my private diary!”

“I don't know, Mairon.” He tossed the book disdainfully toward me. It fell just short of the bars. “It occurs to me that you might be just as dishonest with yourself as you are with everyone else. What I do know for sure is that you never saw me as anything but a tool. You can't imagine what a relief that is.” He didn't sound relieved. “I know you are a vain, callous, fickle liar. I know you hid the location of Utumno for decades. I know you have no loyalty to Aulë or anyone else. I know you have always considered yourself above us all.” There was steel in his voice now. “I know you will do anything to achieve your goals, no matter how underhanded and foul. I know any sympathy I once had for you was wasted on your black heart. Shall I go on?”

Personally, I had no idea he was capable of such melodrama. He looked like a furious icicle.

“I can't deny any of that,” I said reasonably, “but if you think I'm in love with Melkor, you must be cracked in the head.”

His righteous anger dwindled into despair and disbelief. “Is that your only defense?”

“Look. He'll be here soon.” I pressed my face between the bars. “Eönwë, what he does to me, the shit that happens in my brain when I see him … it's out of my control. You can hate me if you want to. I don't care. But I won't let him destroy the Lamps. You have to find Manwë now.”

I could see the battle play out across his stricken face. He didn't move.

“Why do you think I let you read all that?” I demanded. “I know I might not be the most reliable source, but —”

“You aren’t sane.”

“It doesn't matter. When Melkor gets here, you won't be able to stop him. Neither will I.” I held his gaze and tried to convey all my sincerity at once. “Set me free and I'll hold him off for as long as I can. Find the Valar and bring them here.”

“But —”

“If you listen to me, and I'm lying, I’ll escape. Big deal. But if you ignore me, and I'm right, we’ll lose both Illuin and Ormal.” I held up my empty palms. “Which would you prefer?”

His face twisted. For a moment I thought he was going to start crying. But by some miracle he inhaled, met my eyes, and nodded.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re still my best friend, Eönwë, just so you know.”

“I detest you,” he said. I probably deserved it.

As he stepped toward my cage, a long, cold shadow passed over us.

I looked up.

Melkor’s silhouette loomed on the balcony above us like a great crow, cloaked in black and leaning against the railing. The air crackled and shivered. A weird, wild exhilaration swept through me.

“Fly,” I whispered.

Eönwë blanched but did not hesitate. With a beat of his wings, he rocketed up into the air. It would have taken him three seconds to escape.

Unfortunately, Melkor only gave him two.

When he moved, the darkness moved with him. It was so quick and quiet that I could not hope to follow it. All I saw was his clawed hand wrapping around Eönwë’s neck, dragging him down.

I blinked. Melkor was standing in front of me, holding Eönwë up with a fistful of white hair. He dangled like a rag doll. A wheeze escaped his lips. He drew his sword, but Melkor plucked the shaking blade out of his grasp and tossed it aside.

“Stop it!” I yelled. “Put him down, you fucking bastard!”

“As you wish.”

Melkor flung Eönwë to the ground. Hard.

I flinched. Something crunched. Eönwë lay in a crumpled pile, unmoving. His wings were bent in a bad way. His eyes fluttered and rolled back.

“Are you still planning on holding me off?” Melkor asked casually, stepping over Eönwë’s twitching body. “You may find it difficult from in there.”

“Free me, then,” I said.

“Oh, no. I think I prefer you like this. Easier to reach.”

He reached between the bars and dragged me forward, pressed against them, so my toes barely scraped the floor. I didn’t struggle. Much.

“Before you ask,” he said, tilting his head and studying me with hooded eyes, “I heard everything.”

“Everything I told Eönwë was a lie, of course.”

“As you say,” he murmured. “But you told him the same thing about me. How many times do you think you can change your tune before it starts to bore me?”

“I’m not your fucking entertainment.” Everything froze. The light from Illuin dimmed. “Get me out of this trap already, and I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“How to destroy the Lamp,” I said resolutely. “That’s why you wanted me here, right?”

Melkor laughed. My heart sank.

“No, I’m afraid not.” He leaned in. His breath was cold. “You aren’t required for that. I can destroy anything I lay hands upon.”

“Then why the hell did you order me to wait out here for a decade?” I spat.

“Because I want you to destroy the Lamp.”

It seemed rather obvious after he said it, but I gaped and could not speak. He released me and let me sink back onto my heels. I rubbed my sore wrists and watched the distant pillar of Ormal light up like a matchstick on the horizon.

“I can’t,” I said at last. “They were made by Aulë. I’m just a Maia. Even if I wanted to —”

“Spare me your excuses.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“Just a Maia?” Melkor folded his arms. His face was impassive. “You can’t really believe that.”

“What do you mean?”

“You wrote it yourself in this journal, centuries ago.” He nudged my diary with his boot. “I thought you understood. I thought you saw through the illusion. Are you really so eager to be fooled?”

“Melkor,” I said, as veins of fires burned across my hands, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

There was genuine pity on his face. “Have you not realized yet? There is no difference between Valar and Maiar. You and I have only as much power as we are willing to take. All of Aulë’s domain could be yours, if you were brave enough to seize it.”

What he said was not just blasphemy—I was prepared for that—but a complete denial of Eä as I knew it. For a brief moment I felt as if the ground had traded places with the sky. My melody missed a beat. I staggered and fell to my knees, clutching at the floor of my cage.

“You can’t seriously expect me to believe that,” I said, though my voice sounded thin and weak even to my own ears.

Melkor did something odd then—he knelt beside me, his voice lowering. “All Ainur may obtain the divinity of Eru, though the cost is high and few dare to pay it.”

Then it all made sense. “You’re lying.”

“Humor me, then,” he said. “Try to break the Lamp, and we shall see which of us is right.”

My mouth opened and closed.

Finally I saw the magnificence of his trap, and how patiently he’d let me walk into it. It far outclassed Aulë’s cage and Eönwë’s ambush and Curumo’s deceit. It seemed to bind me on all sides until the breath was squeezed from my body.

All I knew for sure was that if I tried, the Lamp would fall—whether through my own skill or some trick of Melkor’s power—and I would be utterly, completely beholden to him. I could not go back to Almaren, nor beg for Manwë’s forgiveness, nor claim I’d been waiting for a chance to betray the Enemy. All my history would be erased with that one choice, and I would be his follower for all the dark ages to come.

Though Melkor sat perfectly still, he was coiled like a snake, and the air itself roiled around him. He must have been terribly pleased with himself. Still, he concealed it fairly well. He even feigned a yawn, as if he was not humming with anticipation. After all, I could not refuse him now.

“No,” I said.

“What?”

“No. I won’t do it.”

“You pledged yourself to my service,” Melkor said.

“Yeah. That was bullshit. Like I told Eönwë,” I shrugged, “everything I said to you was a lie. I don’t serve you, and I’m not destroying a fucking Lamp. Sorry.”

He was on his feet before I could blink. Black clouds darkened the sky around us. Illuin was lost in a thick fog. A clammy, cold feeling crept over my skin.

“Insolent Maia,” he snarled, which I found rather hypocritical, considering his earlier speech. “I should play your song in a different key. Perhaps that would convince you.”

I smiled dully. “Go ahead.”

His eyes flashed white, just for a moment, like lightning illuminating a mountain’s peak. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Inviting me to follow through on my threats as if they would not ruin you.”

“Oh, please,” I sighed. “If you’re so inclined, just fucking ruin me already and get it over with. Go ahead! Kill me or torture me or turn me into pure discord, but I won’t grovel for you. Reduce me to a single note if you want, but I will not beg for mercy. I refuse to become your slave.”

I felt, once again, a deep and satisfying sense of peace that was only slightly dampened by the idea that I’d just guaranteed my painful demise.

He did not move at first. Heavy snow began to spiral down around us. As his breath frosted the air, I scrambled to my feet.

“Wait, don’t —”

The cold hit me like a punch in the gut. Wheezing, I kindled whatever fire I had left. Each snowflake hissed and melted as it touched me, but just beyond the heart of my flame, the whole freezing void was bearing down upon me, as if I stood at the bottom of the sea. I felt myself flicker under the weight of his will.

“How many times do I have to say it?” I gasped. Bitterly cold air filled my lungs. “You can’t intimidate me.”

“Intimidate? I should annihilate you.”

“Should have done that a long time ago.” I grinned even as tears froze on my eyelashes. I was half-hoping I could make him angry enough to strike me down on the spot, rather than drawing it out. “Don’t you get it? I’m just wasting your time. It doesn’t matter what you say. I’ll never work for you. I can’t stand you.”

Then, to my infinite surprise, the mask cracked.

In Melkor’s pale face—which was always sculpted, always perfectly composed, down to the last line of every frown—a genuine flinch broke across his eyes and the corners of his mouth. Through it, I glimpsed what I could not have foreseen or explained: hurt, and bewilderment. Pain.

Then he drew a veil of rage over his features, covering everything else. The wind went screaming past my ears. I nearly fainted as all the heat was dragged from my fana and lost in the howling blizzard. My hands caught the frigid bars of my cage at the last second. I clung to them as my legs went limp.

“Why?” he demanded. Discord ran through his voice and shattered it, so the sound reached me a dozen separate times, layered and fragmented and undeniably lost.

The world was red and dark, like a dying coal. I squinted. Through numb lips, I mumbled, “Why? What do you mean, why? Why can’t you fuck off already? Go find another Maia to torture.”

The wind dropped; the snow ceased; the clouds lost their black, stormy quality and melted into a soft gray mist. Everything was suddenly very quiet.

He was only a shadow before me, shrouded in fog and limned by Illuin’s cold light. His voice was muffled. “I cannot.”

“Sure you can. Aulë has plenty of —”

“Silence,” he said, and I obeyed.

The warmth slowly returned to my fingers and toes as he began to pace in front of me. The folds of his black robe swirled through the haze like oil on water. I pulled the blanket a little tighter and allowed myself a moment of relief.

“You are infuriating,” he said, turning away from me. “Of the many Maiar I’ve spoken to, you have the foulest tongue and the most suspicious mind. You are stubborn, unreliable, even childish when your whims are denied. Your pride exceeds your formidable talents. Of all the Ainur who oppose me, you would be my last choice by far for a servant.”

“Then —”

“I’m not done. Only a fool would ask for your bitter, faithless loyalty. Such a fool you have made of me, Mairon.” His breath caught. Through a break in the mist, red-gold light from the south poured over us. “I could be done by now. The Lamps extinguished, the Valar scattered, and Arda’s chaos mine to claim. Yet I allowed you to delay me. Even now, I falter. If I could abandon you to Aulë’s keeping and forget your existence, I would do so gladly. You are not a prize, but a weakness, some snag in my mind that I cannot untangle. Killing you would be far easier than convincing you of anything, and yet I cannot. I cannot! Do you understand?”

I started laughing again. This time the mirth bloomed in my chest with a heat that wiped out any lingering frost. Droplets of water ran down the iron bars and turned into steam.

“You find this amusing?” he asked flatly.

“I feel exactly the same way about you.”

He cocked his head. “You lie.”

“Why would I lie about that?”

The fog was thin enough for me to perceive his bafflement.

“I have never felt the same as any other Ainu, not since the song began,” he said slowly. “My servants are fearful and my enemies defiant, but none share my will entirely, nor match my desires, nor perceive my thoughts.”

It sounded like a depressing existence, but as I opened my mouth to voice this, I realized that his words described me as well.

So I said nothing for a while.

The fog burned off, and a white pillar of heat appeared on the southern horizon, wreathed in red flames. Terrible bursts of color and comets of fire assailed it. The whole patchwork land of Arda was stained with its bloody light.

The Age was ending. I could see that clearly. The world, perhaps, would end too—but that seemed unlikely.

I imagined an infinite, weary existence stretching out before me: trapped in the dark under Valian scrutiny, bound to Aulë, pitied by Curumo, shunned by everyone else. I imagined my handful of conversations with Melkor drifting further and further away, until they were closer to dreams than memories. I imagined the number of swords I would have to forge for the next war against him, the war yet to come. And the one after that.

It sounded worse than death. I shuddered.

Melkor glanced at me and his eyes narrowed. There was a thread of guilt hidden in his voice. “Are you cold?”

Before I could respond, he unfastened his great cloak and offered it between the bars.

I held my breath.

From the south, an ominous cracking split the air and cascaded across the continent. I ignored it. So did he.

“Thank you,” I said, and took the cloak, draping it over my shoulders. It was softer and warmer than it had any right to be. Its thick velvet folds caught the last ray of golden light.

I’ve always wondered how I might look in black. The answer, as it turns out, was pretty damn good, if Melkor’s expression was anything to go by.

The fall, when it finally arrived, sounded much like a great wave dashing itself to pieces against a seacliff, multiplied over a thousand times. A blue, shadowy twilight enveloped us.

I sighed.

“My only condition,” I said haltingly, “is that Eönwë must not come to harm.”

“Acceptable.”

“And you must give me a little bit of time,” I added, “to update my diary.”

His brow furrowed. “Now?”

“I imagine afterward there won’t be much light to write by.”

This he considered briefly before nodding. “Fine.”

“And —”

“No more delays.”

“At least call the cat for me. I want to make sure she gets out alright.”

Melkor’s eyes were black and bottomless, but something hung suspended in them—amusement? Surprise? He whistled a low, short note and the cat came trotting out of the shadows, as if she’d been waiting there the whole time.

“Here is your precious cat,” he said, lifting her toward me. “Now, write your piece before I lose my patience.”

So I did.

He has waited all this time without complaint. I shall not make him wait any longer.

Warm at last,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I suppose he must have been telling the truth, for I brought Illuin down alone.

After nightfall, I gave him the bracelet. He turned it around and around, watching the veins of red opal flash under the innumerable stars.

If this is a mistake, it’s the best one I ever made,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Naturally, the land was torn asunder—mountains split into canyons, earthquakes ravished the continent, gouts of fire erupted into the sky, et cetera. I don’t know what became of Almaren yet, but I doubt it survived unscathed.

The old world is gone.

The new world reminds me of nothing so much as primordial Arda, before Tulkas and the Lamps and the first green thing, back when Melkor ran wild over black seas of molten rock. This time I shared in his intoxicating joy. We clung to the collapsing ruin of Illuin until the melting ice brought a new ocean down on our heads. We were both soaked to the bone and ridiculously pleased with ourselves, alternately laughing and yelling in mock dismay, acting like a pair of fools. It was the best thing I’ve done in ages.

Consuming the starlight of Illuin filled me with a bright, effervescent sense of strength. It crackled and glowed just under my skin, bubbling up in ecstatic bursts of power. I could have lit the whole northern sky on fire if I felt like it.

That was one explanation for my good mood.

The other, of course, was Melkor.

He seemed impossibly gallant then, reaching down to pull me from the waves, his eyes curved into crescents by his infectious grin. He lifted me up onto the shore. Vast tree trunks lay broken and scattered around us. I fell on my back, panting and wringing the water out of my robe.

“I take it you are pleased with your decision?” he murmured.

“That was incredible,” I said. “Fucking incredible. I just wish those assholes could see me now.” I traced a glowing eye in the air, amused by the trails of amber light following my fingertips. It lingered for a few seconds before fading.

“You were magnificent,” Melkor said. Now that the world was darkened, he seemed much greater than before. The margins of his hair and robes blurred into the black heavens above him.

I studied the sharp lines of his face. His brow was relaxed, softening the ever-present tightness around his eyes. There was a tiny white scar under his chin. I’d never noticed that before.

He was watching me, too. For some reason that rattled me.

“Melkor,” I said, surprising myself with the waver in my voice. His smile dropped; his expression was grave. “Did you —”

“Wait.” He cocked his head to one side, listening closely. The corner of his mouth twitched down. “Ah. We must return to Utumno. They are celebrating already.”

I bit my tongue and nodded.

We flew north on a storm cloud. I shall not write down the details of everything we said, of which I remember little. Mostly I was so giddy I could hardly think, let alone speak. I watched the faint stars pass by overhead like motes of dust.

I do recall at one point that he turned to me and murmured, “You did well, Mairon, very well. Is it not beautiful?” He gestured to the wreckage of Arda, smoldering and desolate. For me, it was a new kind of beauty, different from my art in almost every way. I had trouble wrapping my head around it. I suppose exposed bones possess a similar elegance.

As we spiraled down toward Utumno, triumphant drums echoed off the mountains below, accompanied by much hooting and hollering. Firelight danced at the mouth of every tunnel. A throng of shadows rose up to greet us. Melkor swept past all of them, and I trailed in his wake.

Together, we descended a curved staircase into the center of the fortress, at which point my bubble of joy popped merrily and vanished.

See, I hate parties. Ever since the incident with Eönwë, I've hated them even more. This was the worst type of party: deafening, crowded, dim, and full of Ainur I didn’t know. They swarmed Melkor instantly, and the taste of victory turned to ash in my mouth.

I clung to his elbow for as long as I could, hiding from the full force of the celebrations, but even with his fana as a shield, it was overwhelming. Then the drums picked up and a whirling line of dancers cut between us. I lost my hold on him. He disappeared.

For the first time, I questioned whether I'd made the wrong choice. Facing Melkor’s chittering, writhing, ravening servants, watching their carousing swing between foul indulgence and sudden violence, it struck me that I had no home to go back to. I felt physically sick with doubt, as if I’d just been punched in the stomach. The clammy, reeking air didn’t help. I looked around desperately for an escape, but the crowd extended in every direction. Torchlight glinted off shiny chitin and matted fur and curved ivory. A cacophony of shrieks and wails reverberated off the walls. I caught a stray kick and stumbled into a sticky puddle of red wine (or perhaps blood). The mob closed in until I couldn’t raise my arms. With every passing second, I became more and more convinced I was going to vomit, or maybe just pass out. It felt like a foul and fitting punishment for my betrayal of the Valar: squeezed into this sick hell for eternity. My vision swam.

Melkor grabbed my wrist and lifted me out of the filth. I dangled in his grip for a moment, limp and gasping, before he set me down beside him. We stood on a lifted obsidian dais, watching the revelers surge and break like waves below us. The room seemed to tilt with their motion. I reeled and caught myself, fighting the nausea rising up in my throat. Melkor’s arm locked around mine, steadying me, and I nearly collapsed against him. Only the shock kept me standing.

“So ends the reign of the tyrants of Almaren, cowards and weaklings, now lost in the dark!” His voice rolled over the sound and crushed it into silence. “Glory to the soldiers of the southern front, who vanquished the light of Ormal —” Cheers rippled through the crowd, metal clanged on metal, and one bold soul screamed like a banshee and leapt off a balcony thirty feet over our heads. The crowd swallowed him. “— and glory to Mairon of Aulë, who spilled the light of Illuin!” Less cheers. A few jeers, actually. Many eyes found me, and none of them looked friendly. I would have been offended, but I was too busy trying not to puke.

“So begins the age of power. Drink and be merry.” He laughed darkly and ran a hand through my hair.

I froze. The whole hall was still staring at us. The mark of him stroking me—holding me up—playing with my braid, for fuck’s sake—burned like a brand on my forehead. The hostility radiating from the mob below me intensified. I felt like he was showing me off, like an amusing new toy in his collection. I tasted bile.

After a moment the chatter resumed, but I still couldn’t bring myself to move. Melkor took my hand and pulled me toward the back of the dais, where an enormous throne brooded in the shadows.

“I see the chaos has unsettled you, but you may sit here and rest easy for a while,” he said. “No one will disturb you.”

“What the hell was that?” I snapped, yanking my hand away.

“What?”

“Why did you … touch me?”

His tone turned cool. “I’ve done so before.”

“Not like that. Not in front of them.”

“Indeed,” he said dismissively, “but I do not see why that changes anything.”

My face turned hot and my eyes prickled. I swiped at them angrily.

He frowned. “Don’t mistake my intentions. This is not Almaren. You will be safer here if you are—if you stay closer to me.”

“I don’t care,” I hissed. “Don't ever pull that shit on me again.”

He shrugged. “As you say.”

Then he just walked away.

I thought about yelling after him, but my voice would have surely been lost in the discord. So I swallowed, turned away, and slunk into the dark alcove behind the throne.

It turned out to be a decent hiding place, complete with a tattered floor cushion and the lingering smell of burnt paper. The party has only grown louder and wilder since I sat down, so I may be here for a while yet.

At least I'm not crying anymore,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Regret skulked through the back of my mind. I chased it off for a while, but I couldn't keep it away forever. Things were looking pretty bad.

Mostly I was pissed at myself for letting him enthrall me so easily with a smile and a few charming words, even though I knew I would wind up here eventually. I knew this was coming, and I still couldn't stop it.

I just don’t understand how I fooled myself into expecting anything better from Melkor. He is, by definition, a giant fucking asshole. Eru forgive me for ever doubting that.

And now I’m his puppet, an asshole by association. It’s so fucking unfair.

I could have left Utumno, but I had nowhere else to go. All of Arda was a wasteland of my own making. I deserved nothing better than this. So I sat in my alcove and brooded, cultivating spite out of each horrible sound from the other side of the throne.

I stayed in that hole for the better part of a year, until hunger and desperation finally drove me out.

The party was still raging. The whole cavern exhaled a hot, fetid breath directly into my face. I stuck to the wall and tried not to touch anything. Words cannot express how disgusting the floor was. Every step squelched. I passed overturned mugs, discarded daggers, and a few severed appendages, all sinking into a morass of muddy red and brown grease. Even with my nose pinched shut, the smell was inescapable.

Through slow progress along the margins of each room, I eventually found my way to a seedy little bar carved out of a hole in the wall. It was blessedly quiet and empty. I figured a strong drink couldn't possibly hurt, so I swallowed three tankards of a clumpy, oily black substance that the sneering bartender called ‘cruor.’ He gave me no other options. At that moment I would have traded my hammering arm for a drop of raspberry wine.

Then someone clapped me on the shoulder and made me flinch. I dropped my fourth mug, splattering myself with lumpy black dregs.

“Mairon!” The voice was both familiar and unwelcome. “What are you doing drinking this shit? I thought you had standards.”

It was that dark, unpleasant Maia from the foundry. I brought my teeth together in the ghost of a smile. “This was all he had.”

“Oh, fuck off. Give us a taste of the good stuff, you bastard!” He slapped his palm down on the counter, and the bartender soured. “No more filth for my friend here. Got it?”

“We don’t have enough for all your friends to drink like the Master,” the bartender said in a low, nasal voice.

“Do you want me to tell him you said that?”

They argued for a minute before the bartender relented and poured us two goblets full of a bright, bubbling amber concoction. The fumes alone made me dizzy.

“Drink up,” the Maia said, and knocked back the whole cup in one gulp.

I sipped mine tentatively. The taste was pleasantly hot and smoky, burning my tongue and eyes with each swig. The strength of it went right to my head and lifted some of my malaise. I sneezed.

“Better, right?” he said, grinning.

Despite myself, I had to agree with him. “Never caught your name,” I coughed.

“Call me Gothmog,” he said, leaning in. I fought the urge to recoil. “I'm not one to brag, but I pretty much run this place. You could do a lot worse than sticking by me.”

“Is that so?” I said dubiously.

“See, I know you're probably having some second thoughts. It can be a real shock, getting here with no idea what to expect. Everyone freaks out the first time they see the torture chambers.” He rolled his yellow eyes. “But I can show you the ropes, if you want. Help you figure it out. Make sure they serve you the good stuff. What do you say?”

I didn't trust him. I didn't even like him. But he’d offered me a decent drink and a friendly face when I was sorely missing both.

“Sure.” I finished off my goblet. Warmth surged through me. “Where are Melkor’s quarters?”

He chuckled. His teeth were a patchwork of yellow and black. “You're getting way ahead of yourself, pal. If the boss wants you, he'll let you know. No reason for you to be disturbing his peace. That's the fastest way to get yourself killed.”

“What's the next fastest way?”

He hesitated. “Probably chugging twenty barrels of cruor.”

“Does that happen a lot?”

“Just once.” His lips twisted. “But I reckon you don't need to worry about that. Come on.”

Gothmog showed me a few interesting nooks and crannies, dodging around the ongoing madness of the party. All the larger caverns held clumps of dancers and drinkers and fighters, rolling together in the same dirt. Drumbeats thudded out at random intervals, interrupted by the occasional chorus of screams.

Much of Utumno was familiar, but I couldn't link it all together in my head. The passageways tangled themselves into knots, and half of them were dead ends.

“It’s ongoing,” Gothmog said when I questioned him. “Keeps getting bigger every year. Eventually we'll cover the whole underbelly of Arda.”

We crossed a long gallery crowded with shadowy, insubstantial wraiths. Melkor stood alone at the far end, pouring a black barrel of something down his throat. At least a dozen other barrels lay discarded at his feet. I started counting them before reminding myself that I didn’t care.

If he noticed me staring, he didn’t show it. His hair and robes looked ragged. I felt a brief, cruel twinge of satisfaction, followed by an inexplicable sense of remorse.

Gothmog grabbed my sleeve and pulled me away. “Not a good place to stop, idiot,” he hissed. “Not unless you want to end up like one of them.” He nodded toward the wraiths.

Becoming a wraith sounded even worse than my current situation, so I let Gothmog shepherd me deeper into Utumno. The further we went, the more elaborate and beautiful the fortress became. The crude cave walls were replaced by engraved basalt bricks. The floors were paved with a lattice of silver and black iron. Every few feet, we passed a niche holding a life-sized marble statue. Most of them depicted Melkor. I tried not to stare.

“Here’s my chambers,” Gothmog said at last, pushing aside a heavy steel door. "Come in if you want, but don’t touch anything.”

I tucked my hands behind my back, but there was very little to touch. His chambers were massive and nearly empty. The walls were plain stone, buffeted to a gleaming polish and shot with veins of copper. He had a tall granite slab for a desk, a long granite slab for a bench, and a wide granite slab for a bed. I had to admire his absolute disregard for interior design.

Seeing the bed (however brutal and cold it looked) made me realize I was exhausted. I swayed on the spot, rubbing my eyes.

“Thanks for the tour,” I said, “but I can hardly stand. Where should I … Do I have a room? A place I can sleep?”

His face curved into a slow, easy smirk. “No rooms for you, I'm afraid.” His voice was light and breezy. “That kind of luxury is reserved for the top brass. You just got here. But I'll show you where you can go.”

I followed him even though his sudden change in demeanor had filled me with doubt. I was tired, and drunk, and I wanted to go home.

He led me to a well.

It looked like a well, anyway. It was a circular hole hacked into the rough ground. “You can sleep in the Pit,” he said.

“What?”

“The Pit. That's where all the new recruits live.” He pointed at the hole. “Down there.”

I was tired, but not so tired that I missed the hint of malicious glee in his words. “I'm not going in there,” I said. Even the ragged little cushion behind the throne would be better.

“Sorry, pal. This is where you belong now.”

And then the bastard pushed me in.

I landed hard on a pile of stinking rags. All around me was shuffling and scraping and snoring. The smell of piss and sweat filled up the filthy, drafty dark.

I dragged myself into the lowest corner and curled against the rock, but I could not fall asleep. I tossed and turned, shivering like a frightened animal. Eventually I pulled out this diary and scraped these words together by the pale light of my fingertips.

Once I would have craved revenge. I feel only a great emptiness where anger should be. All I want is sleep, but sleep will not come.

Eru, what have I done?

Chapter Text

It's not that I was trapped. I could have escaped in any number of ways. The power of Illuin still ran through my veins. No mere pit could hold me if I chose to leave.

But I stayed, so I must have wanted to stay, or deserved to stay, or needed to stay.

Or so I told myself.

I never slept in that place, but I fell into a dream which was not all a dream. My spirit drifted, leaving my fana far behind. Untethered from myself, I lost all perception save for the faintest hints of light and sound, like looking up through the glassy surface of water from the darkness below.

From my distant body, I sometimes sensed the rustle and heat of motion, or the soft movement of the air. Someone called my name once. I burrowed deeper into the bedrock until they stopped calling.

Then I lost myself, wandering through the roots of Arda without time or space to bind me. It was not unpleasant. On my way down, I passed ancient stones that I’d laid to rest when the world was new. They greeted me like old friends. Deep gems winked and sparkled in their seamed faces.

My peace was nearly complete when another noise disturbed me. It was the distant, warbling sound of laughter. One of the voices was familiar, and I hated it. The other voices were unfamiliar, and I hated them too. Echoes of pain and fear drove me further and further away, until eventually nothing could reach me.

Then I floated into the void, free of all chains, and realized that the world was silent. The great music had ended without me. I had never heard such absolute quiet, not since the nameless beginning of everything. I turned to Eru and asked why he had forsaken me, and his only answer was silence. I tried to sing, but my own song sounded strange and unfamiliar. And I was afraid, because I could not remember the notes. I had no place in the larger theme. In all ways, I was alone, and it was my fault.

In the world above, my lips shaped a prayer, expecting no answer.

But he came to me in the dark, wearing the shape of the dark, although he burned like a star in my eyes. With him, the divine melody returned, and I remembered myself.

“Mairon.”

My head snapped up. A thin shaft of light stretched down from the hole in the ceiling. A sallow, yellow-eyed face was staring at me through the gap.

“The boss wants to see you.” He spat. “Don't make me come down there.”

I staggered to my feet. My body felt stiff and brittle, folded in on itself and creased with lines of agony. My mind was entirely empty. All I could remember from my waking dream was a feeling of sublime relief, which drained from me little by little as the weight of the world seeped in.

I ascended a rope ladder into the torchlight where Gothmog stood waiting. He smelled like bitter fear. His tongue traced his cracked lips. “You look like shit.”

I stared at him.

“Nothing? Fine. Come on.” As we started walking, his voice dropped into a mutter. “Hope you aren’t broken already. It wasn’t even that long … ”

The hallway was trashed. The thoughts in my head seemed to fit in perfectly with the garbage strewn over the floor. I couldn't focus on anything except the ragged sound of my breath, my bare feet scraping against the stone, and the disgust I felt toward everything—myself most of all. I felt monstrous and vile.

The murky, dizzying corridors of Utumno’s labyrinth made me forget the source of my misery, if only for a little while. Forgetting was both better and worse: better, because I didn't have to think about him; worse, because I couldn't understand why I was here. Gothmog made me march in front of him like a prisoner, but I was not shackled. Why did I stay? The answer eluded me.

Then we reached Melkor, and I remembered everything.

The throne room stood at the epicenter of the post-party disaster, scattered with scraps of paper and fabric, pools of liquid, spilled food, crushed furniture, collapsed pillars, charred wood, a fallen chandelier, and at least two corpses. A fungal odor hovered over the carnage.

Melkor was pacing in front of the throne, disheveled and dreadful. His gait was slow and unsteady, and the skin around his eyes was smeared with black. I'd never seen him in such a state.

He looked very different in my dream.

I stopped in my tracks, recalling my prayer and his answer. The room blurred in my burning eyes.

Gothmog grabbed my neck and squeezed, leaning in until his hot breath filled my ear. “No need to tell him about the Pit and all that,” he rasped. “It’s between us, and none of his concern. I'm sure you understand. Remember who runs this place, eh?”

Before I could speak, Gothmog released me and called out, “I got him, boss.”

Melkor whirled around. The black wave of his cloak whipped out as he strode toward us. “Took you long enough. Mairon —”

His eyes met mine for a bare instant. A shudder rippled through him. “What happened? Where have you been?”

My voice was a dry, cracked whisper. “Nowhere.”

He rounded on Gothmog. “Where was he?”

“Sleeping or something.”

“Where?”

Gothmog sucked air between his teeth. “I mean, I don’t exactly know. Found him in a tunnel, uh, past the mines and south a mile. He looked like this when I got there.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The temperature dropped rapidly. The torches guttered. Ice crept over the floor. Gothmog whimpered and raised his hands. “I’m sorry, boss, I didn’t know you had any special plans for him. I thought he was … Thought you were done with him. I put him in the Pit.”

Melkor’s gaze flickered to me.

Then he backhanded Gothmog with enough force to send him flying. He hit the wall with an appalling crunch, cracking the stone behind his head.

I flinched. Gothmog moaned and dropped to the floor, clutching his skull. He sobbed out broken, incomprehensible apologies and writhed like a worm. I had no pity for him, but the sight of him groveling made me sick. I turned my head away.

“You,” Melkor said roughly, reaching for me.

I recoiled. His hand dropped.

“Why didn’t you call for me?” he said at last, sounding wounded.

“I did.”

“You waited too long.”

“You left me.” The words tasted painfully bitter. “I came all the way out here with you, and you left me.”

His expression was stormy. He balled his hands into fists. “I never would have dropped you in the Pit. I swear, I did not know Gothmog was —”

“You left me alone, you asshole!” I yelled. “That was way worse.”

His mouth opened and closed. I could see that he was furious, but none of his rage fell upon me. Instead, he swallowed it, choking with the effort. His face was white as bone.

“Come with me,” he said stiffly, and stalked away.

I didn't move until he stopped and sighed, “Mairon, please.”

Then I followed him at a distance. He did answer my prayer, after all. No one else would have done that.

He led me through the narrowest tunnel in Utumno. His shoulders brushed the stone on both sides. The ceiling was too low for him to stand upright. After a few dozen feet, we came to a dead end. The far wall was covered in a faded old tapestry depicting a smoking volcano.

“Is this it?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He lifted the tapestry. There was a red door set into the wall.

“I should have brought you here first,” he muttered. “I think you will like it more than the Pit.”

On the far side was a chamber hewn from solid obsidian and haunted with spectral color. Red, yellow, and violet gleamed through the glossy black. Two deep hearths were carved out on either side of the door, burning off the chill. Plush red cushions littered the floor. The left wall held a wide, sturdy desk, while the right had an armoire and a delicate cherry wood dressing table topped with a silver mirror. A scarlet bed sat on a high platform overlooking a sunken pool.

So great was my astonishment that it took me a moment to realize the pool was full of lava. It was tucked into a niche at the back of the room. I could feel its heat from the doorway. The air above it glimmered.

It was unbelievable. Overwhelming. I froze in place.

“Where did … ah, there she is,” Melkor said softly, and pointed. “Your precious cat.”

The cat was curled up on a pillow near the fire. She made a great show of stretching and yawning when she noticed we were watching.

My eyes filled with tears. I should have thanked him, but I could not force the words out. “Melkor, this is too—I can’t —”

“I’m sorry,” he said rapidly, almost tripping over the words. “I was angry, and I have not done this before. Forgive me. I hope it is all to your liking.”

I just looked at him.

He took a step back, then another. A slow retreat. The knot in my chest loosened slightly.

“Can I leave you here, Mairon?” he asked cautiously. Then, with the severity of an executioner, he promised, “I will return soon.”

“Yes.” I sank back into the bliss of that sublime relief. “Yes.”

As soon as he shut the door, I locked it. I covered my eyes and repeated the truth until I started to believe it.

Soon,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My head is clear now. The lava bath helped a lot. I am exceedingly comfortable, scoured clean, sprawled on my bed in my new robes and basking in the heat like a lizard. The cat is purring and resting her head on my foot. I feel pleasantly exhausted. I will certainly fall asleep in a minute, but first, a few notes.

Melkor must have been building this place for a while. There's no way he pulled it together in the last year. There are too many fine details and rare luxuries. I must ask him exactly when he started construction. Probably after I told him to fuck off for the umpteenth time.

I looked at myself in the mirror right after he left. In a word: hideous. I was pale and drained, my eyes looked like bruises, my hair was matted and gross, and my robes were stained and torn. I ended up burning them in the fireplace. Thankfully, Melkor stocked the armoire with plenty of clothes. By some miracle, his black cloak was hanging among them. I can't remember when he took that back. Currently using it as a blanket.

After my bath, I sat down at the dressing table. My face still looked sleepy, but at least my hair was sleek and radiant again. I opened the jewelry box and found, to my delight, all the original pieces I carried over the Iron Mountains from Almaren. It was a happy reunion. Thought I would never see them again. I'm wearing my favorite gold necklace now, the fine chain with pendants of smoky citrines surrounding a star ruby.

Melkor also supplied me with bottles of perfume, ink, and wine; quill pens; soft leather shoes; a silver brush; and a dagger. I tucked that last one under my pillow, just in case.

I haven't completely forgiven him yet, but I'm much better now than I was before.

Still haven't tested this theory, but I think if I call for him, he will answer. The very idea makes me feel like I’m descending into the bath again: a slow, smooth, heavy warmth that surrounds me on all sides until I'm floating.

Back to dreaming,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Well. We spoke.

The knock was both quiet and familiar, as if I'd already heard it a few times in my sleep. I yawned, rolled over, and said, “Yes?”

The sound of a key turning in the lock made me sit bolt upright. I tumbled out of bed, pulling my robe together just as Melkor opened the door.

He stopped. “Should I come back?”

“No, no, it's fine,” I said hurriedly, slipping my shoes on. “I just didn't think … You have a key?”

“Yes.” He stepped in, dwarfing the whole room. He looked like a moth in amber, caught in the smoky red-gold light of the twin fires. “Is that amenable to you?”

“It’s fine. Just give me a minute.”

For whatever reason, I didn't mind him watching me as I fixed my hair and put on a pair of dangling sunstone earrings. I stole glimpses of him through the burnished silver mirror over the dressing table. His face was composed and nearly unreadable. Flickering shadows hid his eyes. My heart fluttered with unfamiliar trepidation.

I didn’t know how to feel about him. He’d given me so much and asked for so much in return. I’d abandoned my whole life for him. I didn’t know what else he wanted from me. All my certainty was gone. Only fear and hope remained, and hope was far worse than fear. I stalled by rummaging through my box of rings, looking for the perfect band, but they were all too plain or too gaudy; they slipped through my fingers like rainwater. My hands trembled.

“Forgive me,” Melkor said suddenly. When I turned in my chair, he was already approaching me slowly, his cloak dragging over the floor. Anguish marked dark lines across his face. “I cannot wait. Before we felled Illuin, I should have warned you that we were bound for a nest of vipers. Much of my time is wasted pulling them from each other's throats. That you were left alone among them was my most grievous error.”

It was so strange to hear Melkor confess remorse, and even stranger to believe it. The guilt in his voice dug at me painfully, but I resisted the urge to cave in. I drew myself up and said stiffly, “It was.”

“I apologize,” Melkor said, reaching out and just barely stroking my cheek with the back of his hand. It felt cold and smooth as satin. “I tried to shield you, to prove you were mine, but you did not understand.” His fingers dropped to the strands of hair curling over my shoulder. “And I was too proud to explain. My touch alone was not enough to protect you. It only marked you as a target for the envious wretches who follow me. Gothmog has been punished for his insolence, but any one of them might have tried to … ” He pulled back. His arm fell to his side. “I wanted to save you from that.”

My throat was dry. I looked away so he wouldn’t see my face. “Well, you really fucked that one up, didn’t you?”

He knelt before me. Black fabric pooled like water around my feet. “Oh, little flame. I should have kept you from the beginning,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “But it is not too late.”

My cheeks grew hot. “What are you saying?”

“Give yourself to me, Mairon.” His commanding tone was lifted by an unexpected note of delight, as if he’d just discovered an elegant solution to a frustrating problem. “If you belong to me, you will be safe, I swear it. No one else will dare lay a hand upon you. I only wish I had claimed you earlier and spared you from this strife.”

His certainty was so compelling that I briefly considered it. I really did.

Then I pictured Melkor lounging on his throne, and me cowering behind it.

“I can’t.”

His expression turned to stone. “Why?”

“Because I live here now. This is my home.” I said that with as much conviction as I could muster, fixing my eyes upon the jeweled tapestries decorating the walls. They helped a lot. “I have to figure it out for myself. I can’t just ride on your reputation, or everyone will hate me even more than they already do.” I winced, remembering the look on Gothmog’s face as he shoved me into the Pit.

“If they know you are mine, they will not harm you.”

“They will resent me for hiding behind you. It makes me look weak. As soon as you step away, I'm liable to get stabbed in the back.”

His jaw was set stubbornly. “Then I will not step away.”

“Bullshit.”

“Mairon, listen to me. My servants are simple and predictable creatures. They crave my power and flee from my wrath. Utumno is built to break and remake them until they bow to my will.” He sneered. “I would not wish that fate upon you.”

“You want me to argue with you?”

“If you must.”

“Then leave me alone.” I bit my lip. “At least in public. You can't be showing me off like a stolen princess. Don’t give speeches about me, or play with my hair, or pull me around in front of everyone.”

His voice was flat. “And if I see you flailing?”

“Then I deserve to drown.”

He scowled.

“I thought that was your whole fucking deal,” I said mockingly. “We take whatever power we can get, right?”

“Indeed.” His voice turned dark and sullen. “And I have taken everything I wanted since the beginning of time, and grown more powerful than even Manwë could imagine. Why should I not take you as well?”

A nervous giggle escaped my lips. I wanted to slap myself. “You asked me to join you. Well, here I am. Now, if you have the slightest bit of sense in your big fucking head, you’ll let me do this my way.”

For a split second, scarlet fire glistened in his eyes. He drew all the light and heat into himself, and his shadow grew vast and terrible.

“Stop trying to scare me,” I muttered, drawing my knees in. “It won’t work.”

“As you say.” His tone was cold and precise. “I won’t trouble you any further. Here.” He withdrew a key from his robes and tossed it onto the floor with a clatter.

As he stood up, I faltered. “Wait. You didn’t—I never finished my question.”

“What question?”

“Did you hear … everything Eönwë said to me on the tower of Illuin?”

He studied me through lowered lashes. “Everything,” he said slowly, rolling the word around in his mouth. “Yes, I think I did.”

He paused.

I should have said something else, but he spun on his heel and left before I could find the words.

Glanced at myself in the mirror. My whole face was pink.

Damn him,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I mean, come on. Give yourself to me? What was I supposed to say? The whole reason I left Almaren was to get away from that. I’m done with masters, lords, gods, and all other types of self-righteous pricks. I won’t turn myself into whatever he wants me to be—his consort, his thrall, his prize—no matter how he tries to convince me.

It’s like he doesn’t know me at all.

I can’t believe I considered it.

Because if I had to serve anyone, I would choose him—of course I would choose him—but I wish I didn’t have to choose at all.

No more cages,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Haven't seen Melkor since our last talk. Whatever. I'm over it. At least he knows how to leave me alone.

I've been slowly exploring Utumno, mapping my progress as I go. This place is less of a fortress and more of a vertical city, spanning from the peaks of the Iron Mountains down to the roots of the world. It would be easier to chart if it didn't keep changing. Old tunnels collapse, new doorways appear, and entire rooms seem to vanish between one expedition and the next.

In truth, the fortress feels unnaturally somber. No traces remain of the revelry I witnessed after Illuin fell. Most of the halls are dark and quiet, though I cannot shake the feeling of being watched. I think I've picked up a shadow. Keep seeing the occasional figure ducking behind a pillar, or hearing an echo of my footsteps continue even after I stop walking. Tried catching them in the act, but all I managed to discover was the lingering scent of pine.

It's definitely not Melkor. He does not possess the required subtlety, and I doubt he would bother to hide from me in the first place.

I still haven't found his chambers. There are corridors I dare not enter, rife with horrible miasmas, or pitiful screams, or a cold and creeping dread seeping out of the gray-green walls.

I have located several kitchens, though none of them meet my standards. Mold everywhere. I'm afraid to eat anything in this place. Heard rumors that a raiding party set off for the ruins of Almaren last year. Hoping for an influx of good food and drink when they return.

From what I've managed to pick up, the island is broken in twain, and the Valar have deserted it completely. Perhaps I should feel guilty, but I can't quite manage to care. What have they ever done for me?

Still. I had a purpose there. I didn't love it, but at least I could understand it.

Here, I feel pointless. Breaking Illuin was my one triumph, the moment where everything harmonized. I could have sworn my life was perfect when that light washed over me.

Now all I do is wade around in the shallows of Utumno, eavesdropping on bored sentries and cutting the mold off old bread. It’s a pitiful existence, to be sure.

But if he thinks this is enough to make me change my mind, he is sorely mistaken.

Resolute,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I’ve been such an idiot. Locked away in this polished little jewel of a room, I blinded myself to everything but him. Now my eyes are open.

I went to the bottom of Utumno. I walked on strange trails beneath Arda itself, where demons toiled in darkness unending. I heard the gnawing of the nameless things.

This is an impossible place, a miracle shaped like hell. There is no logic to any of it, just a dizzying abyss of firelight and basalt. Multiple corridors occupy the same space. The architecture sings itself into new shapes. The statues move, shadows steal torches off the wall, and floods of magma wipe out the mines on a regular basis. I found three doors leading to the same tiny sepulchre, with the same white coffin and the same set of footprints on the dusty floor. The doors were three miles apart.

The chaos of each individual part—from the hollow rookeries hidden within mountaintops to the damp dungeons under the cistern—creates a baffling parody of order. None of it makes sense, but its very lack of consistency is so perfectly balanced that it forms a seamless whole. I can’t believe it functions at all, for each piece of it is so crude and brutal that it seems designed to self-destruct. It is perpetually failing, propped up on its own severed limbs. Its decay is constant and unending, and yet it staggers on. A single critical mistake would mean starvation, incineration, rebellion, collapse, obliteration. It only staves off those fates by cannibalizing itself.

Can’t believe I tried to map it. Might as well attempt to chart every cloud in the sky.

I have to talk to Melkor. I need to find out what he was thinking when he built this monster.

I may be slightly impressed,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I decided to search for Melkor properly, starting with the ornate hall of statues near Gothmog’s room. What happened next was not my fault.

From the beginning, I felt vaguely guilty about trying to find him, as if I was letting myself down. Not sure why. He is, after all, the only reason I’m here. I never regretted abandoning Almaren until he left me. Arguments and threats and possessive demands aside, I quite like having him around. But I am too proud to pray to him like a supplicant, begging for his divine presence. Even believing he would answer, I can’t bring myself to ask. I refuse to make him my god. He’s smug enough as it is.

So I figured it was my turn to just show up on his doorstep, uninvited and unannounced, and make him deal with it. The only challenge was finding his door.

After half a mile of searching, I stumbled across a sunken amphitheater lined with steps of black marble. Hushed voices echoed off the curved walls. One was brisk, plain, and faintly exasperated.

The other was clearly Gothmog, albeit a little more nasal than before.

I hid myself in a niche, pressed uncomfortably close to a statue of Melkor. At least this one was clothed. The stone folds of his robe concealed me well enough. Through a crook in his elbow, I could see everything.

Gothmog and another Maia stood at the bottom of the room. A sodden, stinking corpse lay between them, a misshapen beast with matted brown fur and a long ivory horn. Dark blood pooled on the marble around it.

Gothmog had a white bandage wrapped around his face, concealing his nose. His breath whistled faintly as he said, “I won’t waste any more time on this shit unless you’re absolutely sure. The boss is already breathing down my neck.”

The other Maia knelt beside the corpse, examining it. His round face wrinkled in disgust. “How long have you been holding onto this?”

“Took a while to drag it back,” Gothmog said evasively.

“No shit. See the wound here?” His fingers pressed into the skin. I looked away, but I couldn’t blot out the horrible squelch that followed. “The rot makes it hard to tell, but that’s definitely one of Oromë’s spearheads. I guarantee it.” His voice carried a note of superiority that annoyed me, hypocrite that I am. “Where did you find him?”

Gothmog sneered. “Why should I tell you?”

The other Maia stood. His hands were red. “Because you need me. You can’t take him alone.”

“Sorry, pal. I’m not sharing this.”

“Is there something wrong with your head? What makes you think he won’t thrash you even worse than the Master did?”

Gothmog looked thunderstruck. I snorted before I could stop myself.

The sound was soft, but both of them heard it. They turned as one toward my hiding spot. Gothmog practically leapt up the steps of the amphitheater. The other Maia followed him slowly, squinting. “Who’s there?”

I could have tried to flee, or remained wedged in the crevice between the wall and Melkor’s carved ass. Both options seemed too embarrassing to contemplate. Instead, I stepped out to face them and bowed dramatically. “Just me, I'm afraid.”

“You sneaky little prick,” Gothmog snarled. “What are you doing here?”

“What happened to your nose?” I asked.

His eyes narrowed into slits. He didn't reply, but the Maia behind him called out, “Confiscated. I heard he stuck it where it didn’t belong.”

“How clever. I’m Mairon, by the way.”

“I know. Langon.”

“Charmed, I'm sure.”

“Shut the hell up,” Gothmog said, advancing toward me. I retreated until my back hit the wall. His breath steamed in my face as his yellow eyes bored into me. “Funny. I thought you’d be too busy whoring yourself out to come spy on me. Unless the boss is sending you to do his dirty work for him.” His smile was full of bite. “Is he that sick of you already?”

Violent rage lanced through me, and I only contained it with a visible twitch. “You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“You think you’re really that special?” His voice picked at the crack in my facade until it split open. “You think Melkor doesn’t just want to stick his dick in a hot little Maia? Enjoy it while it lasts, Mairon, because as soon as he stops caring, I’m going to do to you everything he did to me. Hell, I might even let him watch.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Langon said. His voice sounded watery and distant over the rushing in my head.

I swung as hard as I could. It was like punching an anvil. Gothmog snickered. “Is that it?”

“Fuck off,” I hissed, pouring as much fire as I could through my fingertips as I clawed into him. My fist became a searing brand of burning, cherry red that erupted into brilliant white flames. Gothmog choked on his laughter and started to scream.

I let him go. He beat at the fire, then dropped to the ground and rolled frantically back and forth. But the flames were not extinguished. If anything, they kept getting brighter. He looked like a fallen star. He never stopped screaming.

Langon didn’t lift a finger to help him. He just stared.

I left in a hurry. Went straight home and locked the door behind me. I poured myself a cup of wine and sat on the floor next to the hearth, watching the flames dance. My hands are still shaking.

I feel fantastic,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Everyone is avoiding me. Even the darkness shrinks away as I pass. It's lovely. I should have burned Gothmog ages ago, honestly. Fuck him and his foul mouth. Hopefully he’s nothing more than a pile of ashes by now.

In spite of all that, I still have a shadow. Must be very stubborn or very stupid. Or both.

To take my mind off certain rude and lingering insinuations, I devised a cunning trap which very nearly worked. I left my room and wandered aimlessly, waiting for the unmistakable sensation of eyes crawling over my skin. It picked up after a few minutes. There were other signs, as well: the smell of pine, a soft disturbance in the still air, a double echo haunting my footsteps.

Pretending not to notice, I led them to the labyrinth room.

The entrance was perfect for my purposes: a doorway on the left and a staircase on the right. The doorway opened into a maze of bleak stone, while the staircase ended in a balcony overlooking the maze.

I conspicuously entered the double doors, letting them slam shut behind me. I found myself in a dim, narrow corridor with a cold draft swirling around my ankles. The walls were twelve feet high, black as graphite, and claustrophobically close.

I never solved the maze. As far as I know, no one has. The whole labyrinth room is effectively a dead end, orbited by rumors of missing Ainur driven into madness after spending years or decades trapped within its shifting passages.

I had no desire to meet the same fate. Knowing my time was limited, I immediately braced my back against one wall and my feet against the other and started to climb. It was both awkward and uncomfortable. I prayed fervently to no one in particular that I would not be discovered like this.

After a few moments of scrabbling, I caught the balcony railing above me and swung myself up and over. From that lofty perch, I could look straight down into the corridors of the maze. The trap was set. I waited impatiently for my shadow to appear.

Then came the lowest hint of a noise from the stairs behind me, a slithering and silken sound that chilled me to the bone. I realized my error at once. They were coming to the balcony. I had planned to study them from a safe distance, not surprise them from three feet away. My shoulders tensed, as if anticipating a blow.

At that moment I heard a loud and familiar voice from within the maze, calling my name.

The slithering stopped. A quick, quiet little rustle told me they were leaving. I tried to catch them in the act, but by the time I scrambled to the staircase, it was empty.

When Langon reached me I was in a foul mood, simultaneously shaken and disappointed, and the sight of him did nothing to improve it. He emerged from the labyrinth room with a bare, insincere grin on his round face, repeating my name with that unreasonably loud voice.

“Yes, I am he,” I snapped. “Why are you here?”

“I come here to think. It’s great for that. Meditative.” He scratched his head. “But I've been meaning to talk to you, Mairon. I'm glad I found you. I have a few suggestions. Stuff you'll want to hear.”

I asked him if this was about Gothmog and he assured me it was not. He didn't care about what I had done to Gothmog at all.

“No, I'm talking to you because I want to help you. This place is rough. Especially when you're just starting out.” Langon’s tone was magnanimous and condescending at the same time. “If you want, I'll give you some pointers. I can teach you a lot about how to handle yourself. How to get around. That kind of thing.”

I had no intention of taking his offer—not after what happened last time—but curiosity compelled me to ask if he wanted anything in return.

His eyes lit up. “Well, that depends. You're a smith, right?”

“Among other things.”

“Are you any good?”

The skepticism in his voice was laughable. “Yes. Why?”

He produced a series of sketches on the spot. They were undeniably sloppy but entirely functional. As Langon described it, he was trying to build a new type of weapon. To me, the design looked more like a coffin. Precise and cruel blades protruded at locations corresponding with vital organs. Notes along the margin described various enchantments welded into the metal. The contraption was hinged to snap shut like a pair of jaws around an unsuspecting victim. I was vividly aware of the soft, warm flesh of my own fana, and how quickly it would rip apart and bleed in the mouth of that machine.

I said, a little queasily, “What is this for?”

He scoffed. “What do you think?”

“I think … ” My finger traced a cutting line of the six-pointed spear set in the middle of the coffin. It would fit neatly under the rib cage of an Ainu much taller than me. “ … you could use this to trap a Vala.” Then a terrible thought occurred. “Is it for him?”

Langon understood the implication and denied it instantly. I was relieved to see the mindless fear and outrage darken his eyes. “Are you fucking stupid?” he shrieked, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Through his fingers, he sputtered, “Don’t ever—don’t even think that I … My loyalty has never been questioned. Never! I would never dream, never dare … No. No, you idiot, it’s not for him.”

“Forget it,” I said, handing him the roll of paper. “I’m not making this.”

Langon cursed me once more and stormed off. I could not imagine a better result.

Still slightly worried about his plans to build an inescapable Ainu torture device, but I don't think he can do it without me. I am, as I may have mentioned, the greatest blacksmith to ever wield a hammer.

Modestly,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Someone knocked on my door.

At first I thought it was Melkor, and felt an ecstasy that terrified me with its potency. At that moment I would have gladly done anything he asked of me. Perhaps I should have been relieved that it was not him. Instead, after I hurriedly brushed my hair and shoved the empty wine bottles into my dresser, my fumbling hands unlocked the door to reveal a Maia I’d never seen before, and I was made hollow by disappointment.

She was pale as ash. Her short, dark hair framed her sharp face. She wore a cloak of midnight black which covered everything below her neck. The high collar gave her a solemn, imperious look, verging on disdain.

I considered slamming the door in her face. Then the familiar scent of pine reached me. The back of my neck prickled. “Who the hell are you?”

She dipped her head in the shadow of a bow. “Thuringwethil.”

“You've been following me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know why.” She tilted her head. “May I come in?”

The flat certainty in her voice and the boldness of her request unsettled me enough to hold the door open for her. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room, lingering on the rumpled silk sheets and the cluttered dressing table.

“Nice place,” she said, taking a seat on the armchair near the fire. Her back was ramrod straight. “Melkor made it?”

“Yes,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “Now, would you please explain why you were spying on me? Because I still have no idea who you are.”

“Call me Thuri,” she said. “Melkor made a room for you.”

My face grew hot. I couldn't read her tone; it might have been skeptical or mocking or accusative. “Yeah. So?”

“That makes you interesting,” she said simply. “You burned the sly one, which was good. You tried to catch me, which was better. And Melkor wants something from you. I don’t know what it is, so I decided to ask you.” The short speech seemed to exhaust her. She reclined slightly, watching me with glittering eyes.

Gothmog’s words returned unbidden to my mind. I shoved them away. If Melkor wanted nothing more than a concubine, well, there were easier ways. Much easier.

“I don’t know either,” I said slowly. “I haven’t seen him for a while. I'm not sure what he's doing now.”

Thuri’s eyebrows shot up. “No one explained?”

“Explained what?”

“The circle of Utumno.” When I shook my head, she leaned in and began to speak in a patient monotone. “In good times, when Melkor is pleased, the whole fortress lives magnificently. Echoes of hammers and picks fill the halls, and revelry spreads. Brawls remain friendly, and battles are won in the world above.” She dropped to a whisper. “But the Master is wild and his moods often darken, turning toward hatred and rage without warning. In bad times, when Melkor is bitter, he retreats to his chambers to gather up storms and cast them into the sky. His cold melancholy seeps under the door, infecting us until the whole fortress is steeped in his misery, bleakly awaiting his triumphant return.” She blinked. “This is one of the bad times.”

And that made perfect sense. I didn't like it, but at least I could understand it. He must be very bitter, even now.

I thanked Thuri and found myself curiously lonely when she left. After all, it was my first decent conversation in years. Strange how the time slips away here. It would be entirely too easy to spend decades locked in the dark, sulking in my own sour regret.

I hope he comes out soon,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Been spending a lot of time with Thuri. She's great. Offered to show me around the fortress, and so far she hasn't even tried to push me into a pit. I consider that a massive success. It’s nice to have a friend.

One of the raiding parties finally made it back, but their haul was pitifully small: a few crates of good cheese, a live goose, an ornamental pearl dagger, and a bottle of fine mulled wine (subsequently broken by the crowd fighting over it). Their captain claimed they were ambushed by a company of Maiar hiding in the ruins of Almaren. They’ve already started rounding up volunteers for another raid.

Regardless, the dearth of good food continues with no end in sight. I am resigned to it by now. My cheeks have taken on a gaunt appearance, but I refuse to try the mystery meat (it’s definitely rats).

Thuri also took me to the door.

It was made out of solid marble and obsidian, carved with twisted beasts and agonized faces. It radiated such malevolent, gut-churning hatred that I could not bring myself to step within ten feet of it, though the door knocker hanging from the mouth of a lion tempted me greatly.

“It is death to disturb him without an invitation,” Thuri said softly. She made an elegant gesture to encompass the broken, brittle skeletons propped against the walls. There were at least a dozen of them.

I have not yet become that desperate,
Mairon

Chapter Text

At last, Thuringwethil introduced me to the foundry. All glory to metal, my oldest ally. I dearly missed the luster of gold bending into shape, and the red glow of heated tongs, and the hiss of the slack tub. Without them, I am incomplete.

Melkor’s foundry is deeper and more scattered than Aulë’s. His forges are built into nooks in the wall and connected through roughly carved vertical shafts, each one equipped with a vent for hot air. When we entered, my face caught a blast of dry, searing wind that smelled of soot and iron. I could not resist grinning like a fool.

Most of the smiths here are Maiar poached from Almaren, and thus quite familiar, but none of them spoke to me. The mood in Utumno is still somber and hostile. Melkor remains sequestered in his chambers. In my bolder moments I imagine dragging him out by the collar and asking him how long he intends to hide from me. It is a pleasant fantasy.

After looking around, I found an empty smithy and made a few trinkets just to remind myself what it felt like to shape beauty with my own two hands.

I gave a silver brooch set with dark sapphires to Thuri, who sat on a stool and watched me work with wide eyes. She flipped it over in her deft hands. “A gift?”

“Why not?”

She fastened it at the top of her cloak. “Devious. Now I am in your debt,” she said gravely.

“Not at all,” I protested. “You've given me so much for free.”

She shook her head. “Not quite free. When he comes back, you will intercede for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Speak to Melkor on my behalf.” She almost looked embarrassed. Her voice lowered to a rasp. “He does not know I am here.”

That surprised me. Thuri seemed entirely at home within the shadows of Utumno, and I had assumed she’d been working for Melkor since the beginning. “I’m sure he would be glad to have you.”

Her chin lifted. “Will you speak to him?”

Of course I agreed. I would gladly talk to him about Thuri (and a number of other things as well) if he would only show his damned face.

But I am happy enough without him,
Mairon

Chapter Text

In the end I stumbled upon him in the most unlikely of places.

The first thing I noticed was that he still wore the bracelet. My heart skipped lightly at the sight of it. I made a soft, satisfied sound that must have alerted him to my presence, for he spun around and saw me at once.

We were on the eastern side of the Iron Mountains, standing in a tower carved out of a sheer peak. Its open windows looked down upon the snow-covered slopes to the south and west, which were shaded in drifts of pale violet under the indigo sky. All was deathly still.

Thuri showed me the tower last year. It stands in a remote corner of Utumno, once a watchtower against Almaren, now empty since the fall of the Lamps. It is unremarkable save for the floor, which is tiled in a vast mosaic depicting various subtle patterns in black and gray and white.

I had arrived intending to copy down one of the patterns and use it in my jewelry. Instead I found Melkor at the top of the stairs, gazing out over the darkness of Arda and turning my bracelet slowly around his wrist.

Then he saw me. My mouth felt thick and dry. I had so much I wanted to say to him, but none of it came out. I could only stare into his fathomless black eyes and swallow. After an eternal second—during which the space between us contracted until all I could see was his face, the cracks in his marble lips, the bent line of his nose, the flutter of a pulse under his chin—he turned away. I staggered with the loss of his gaze, as if some string holding me up had been severed. Embarrassing, but there it is.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were still hiding in your room.” I hated the way my voice sounded then. It came out harsh and wrong.

With his back to me, he was entirely unreadable. Now the distance seemed to expand until the whole Void rested between us. He said nothing. In my mind, old fears were resurrected. They whispered: he did not care then, he does not care now, you were a fool to believe him.

My eyes prickled. I was so angry, and so bound to the remnants of my pride, that I nearly walked away. Everything had been going so well. I would not let him ruin it.

Then he said, “Come here.”

I would have scoffed at the command, but his tone was soft and distant, as if his mind was somewhere else. I went to stand beside him. He was looking at the stars.

In a low, longing murmur, he promised, “When all of Arda at last lies under my heel I will crush it from spire to soil. Nothing will remain of this world but black sand. Only then will I reach up and extinguish the stars.”

He clearly did not expect a response, but petulance compelled me to say, “Unlikely.”

Melkor frowned. “What?”

“I’ve been rummaging through your fortress while you slept,” I said. “Or sulked, or pleasured yourself, or whatever it is you were doing in there.” He denied nothing. “It’s a mess. Conceptually speaking, I see what you were going for, but you can't feed people with aesthetics. Where's your supply chain? When was the last time you delegated anything? How are you planning to annihilate the stars when your army spends most of its time fighting itself or starving to death?”

His lip curled. “I brought down Ormal with that army.”

“What you did in fifty years would have taken me ten. Tops.”

His teeth glinted in the ghost of a smile. “What do you know about war, little smith?”

His condescension hit me like a punch in the gut. I took a step back. Coldly, I said, “Aulë believed I was only a smith. Would you like to repeat all his mistakes?”

Melkor paused. When he turned to face me fully, flames were dancing in his dark eyes. As he reached out, I looked away, but the touch of his cool hand on my jaw made me shiver nonetheless. “No. Not all of them.” His thumb traced my lower lip. “I do not intend to let you escape me.”

My whole body wanted to arch into his touch. I tried not to move, though I could feel myself blushing furiously. “Neither did Aulë,” I whispered. “But I cared little for his intentions.”

“What was it that drew you away from him, in the end?”

“A stranger. A cruel one who thought himself a king.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “But he was handsome, and I liked it when he laughed.”

“A pity that he laughs so rarely.”

“Shut up.”

“Of course, if I were Aulë,” he mused, “I would have kept you away from strange kings.”

“He tried. I ran away.”

“Indeed,” Melkor intoned, deeply satisfied. “From these very windows I watched you run from him to me.”

My eyes opened. Once again I saw the starlight gleaming on the snow outside.

I drew back. Melkor’s fingers caught a curl in my red hair, holding it out between us. His mouth twitched.

“If I did not let you go, what would you do?”

“I think you already know.”

Whatever he saw in my face made him drop my hair and lean forward. His lips brushed my forehead as lightly as a snowflake. The black velvet of his cloak enveloped me. For a moment I thought I was dreaming again.

“Have it your way,” he sighed, stepping back. “The door is open, Mairon, but I will not pull you through it.”

Then he stalked away, leaving me to thaw in the lingering warmth. I confess I was blind and dazed for a while.

Only much later did I realize I had completely forgotten to mention Thuri.

Next time,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Oh, it’s bad.

I can still feel his touch on my skin. My lips. My forehead. For fuck’s sake, he kissed me. He kissed me! Melkor kissed me. Even writing his name makes me sigh and smile dreamily. Melkor. Melkor. What am I doing?

I wanted to follow him. My mind is so full of memories—the low purr of his voice, his hand on mine, the warmth of his cloak on my shoulders, the smell of smoke clinging to his chest, the quiet tread of his footsteps—that I scarcely see the world around me.

I am in my bed, kicking my feet like an idiot and hugging the cat against me. There are so many reasons to visit him and only one reason to stay away.

I don’t want him to win.

Which is to say, I don't want him to think that I belong to him, or that my mind and heart are his to command, or that I am completely obsessed with him and incapable of getting over it.

But I totally am. And I'm not sure if I can hide it any longer. I might actually go crazy. Starting to feel like I already did.

Help,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The halls are alive again. A song of discord rolls through each cavern and corridor, harsh and bright and twisting eternally toward chaos. I could not predict where the melody would go next, but found myself humming along regardless. My footsteps matched the drums.

I am going to see him now, fears and butterflies be damned. I stopped by the foundry earlier to gather my courage. The sound of roaring furnaces and clanging hammers calmed me down, reminding me that I am still myself. There is no reason for me to be scared of him.

In fact, I made him a lamp. Figured he might find it amusing. It is modeled after Illuin, if Illuin had less ice and more structural stability. I filled its glass sphere with a dram of swirling, shimmering starlight. On its tiny balconies I placed two little iron figures in flowing robes.

It might be too much. I balk at the thought of carrying it openly to his door. Utumno is awfully crowded right now, and I don’t want to be caught by Gothmog or his ilk with such a sappy tribute clutched in both hands.

I think I will leave it here for safekeeping. Just placed it on the floor so the cat won’t knock it over. It is, at the very least, an excuse to invite him back to my room.

So. Here I go.

I keep imagining new ways to delay the inevitable, but at this point, I'm out of alternatives. I have to tell him the truth.

How silly it all seems, and how serious it feels,
Mairon

Chapter Text

[The page is smeared with soot and singed along the edges.]

I take it all back. I detest him. I always have. He has only ever deceived me into believing otherwise.

Trying very hard to stay calm, but when I think about it too much, my vision goes white and my quill ignites in my hand. Had to extinguish it three times already. I’m writing this with a bucket of water beside me. Fuck him. It’s all his fault.

[There is a small hole burned into the paper.]

Four times. Just doused it again. By now it looks less like a feather and more like a smoldering twig. I am surprised it has not melted yet. I cannot control the fire. As soon as I got back, I smashed my dressing table to bits, torched my bed, and pushed my wardrobe into the lava. I ripped the pillows in half and let the feathers fly. The tapestries hang in tatters. The cat ran away when I took a hammer to the lamp. It shattered into hundreds of pieces, spattering liquid starlight over the floor. Everything is ruined. I don’t want it anymore. Let it burn.

It was a long, slow march to see him. I had to fight my way through throngs of snivelling servants, soldiers, miners, and roving musicians with their shrieking pipes and deep drums. Utumno has not been so crowded since the fall of the Lamps.

When I got there, the black and white doors were already propped open. Melkor emerged from the shadows within just as I rounded the corner. He surprised me quite badly. I’d been walking fast, and nearly tripped on my robe in my effort to stop before I ran into him.

His brow furrowed. “Mairon,” he said, smooth and courteous, although his voice thrummed with a familiar undercurrent of satisfaction. “What a pleasant surprise. I was just leaving.” He pulled the doors shut behind him. “Walk with me?”

I don't know why the sight of him drove all wit and wisdom out of my brain. I only know that I nodded once, stupidly, and fell into step beside him. We were less than six inches apart, and yet so careful not to bridge that gap, not even for a moment. When I risked a glance at him, his gaze was fixed on the corridor ahead.

“Where are we going?” I asked cautiously.

“A war council is in order. The scattered forces of Almaren have been harrying my people for years. While I was … absent, others took matters into their own hands.” He looked grim. “Do you know how many raiding parties ventured south and never returned?”

“Three?”

“Eight. The latest departure makes nine.”

“They might come back.”

“They will not.”

I winced. His tone was black.

We entered a narrow staircase with damp walls. Halfway up, three missing steps revealed a black void beneath our feet. I hesitated, trying to gauge the jump. I didn’t want to miss.

As swiftly and casually as he pleased, Melkor wrapped an arm around my waist, lifted me against him, and stepped over the gap. I barely had time to realize what was happening before he set me back down.

Again I felt the treacherous heat in my cheeks, rushing up to burn the tips of my ears. Before I could speak, Melkor said bluntly, “What is it that brought you to my doorstep, Mairon? What do you want?”

How unkind of him to ask me then for a truth I could not even admit to myself. I shrank against the wall, struggling for an answer that would satisfy both of us. I wanted everything. But I couldn't say that. Cold water soaked my collar.

“If you must know, I made a friend,” I said, grabbing the first excuse that came to mind. “She asked me to talk to you.”

He scrutinized me. His breath on my forehead made me shiver in recollection, imagining what might happen if I took a step forward.

“A friend?” It felt like an accusation.

“Yes,” I said. “Her name is Thuringwethil.”

An emotion I could not identify tightened his face. He started climbing again. I had to trot to keep up.

“I know the creature you refer to,” he said coldly. “She is, or was, a Maia of Varda, and thus not welcome here.”

“What?” I stopped. “Why?”

At the top of the stairs, Melkor turned to look down. His form blotted out the torchlight from above. “I need no service from Varda’s servants.”

“But she clearly isn’t working for Varda anymore,” I said. “No more than I am for Aulë, anyway. Why take me and not her?”

“It brings me great joy to steal beauty from Aulë. You, flame, I imagine he misses most dearly by now.” His nostrils flared. “But I take no pleasure in robbing Varda, for I neither need nor desire her touch in aught that I do.”

Anger colored my voice. “Why not?”

“Any number of reasons,” Melkor muttered, “which I need not explain to you.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Careful,” he said softly, which enraged me.

“No. Explain to me why the fuck you won’t accept another Maia just because she happened to serve the wrong master first. Do you think any of us got a choice?”

The water dripped steadily down the walls. Melkor bowed his head. Silky black hair shrouded his face. Dread paralyzed me.

In an entirely different manner, halting and low, he said, “Long before Arda, I asked Varda to join me. I made her an offer like yours. She refused.”

“An offer.” I remembered the velvet cloak hanging from Melkor’s outstretched hand, bathed in the warm golden light of Ormal. I imagined the same cloak draped over Varda’s milky shoulders.

“Do you understand?”

I wish I hadn’t.

“You said I was—I thought I was the only one who … ”

He paused. “You are.”

“The only one who said yes.”

“Mairon —”

I pushed past him. For an infuriating second, he held firm.

“Melkor,” I said, “get out of my way.”

He melted back. I would not look at him. I felt righteous with spite. I thought of Varda, in all her celestial beauty, with stars in her indigo hair, and I tasted bile. “Did she break your heart?” I asked sharply. “Is that it?”

“It was not hers to break.”

“And she picked Manwë? Oh, you must be so jealous.”

“Ah, Mairon.” His reply sounded muffled. “I did not mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not yours to hurt.”

Whatever he said after that was lost in the noise of my boots slapping against the floor as I stormed off, feeling like the greatest fool in the world. And yet some part of me rejoiced secretly, knowing he was suffering too. Something curled up in my chest craved the bittersweet agony of being wronged more than anything else.

If he still wanted Varda, then I was only a distraction, a pathetic substitute for the Queen of the Valar. I would rather die than live in her shadow.

But if he felt nothing for Varda, then I stood no chance. If Melkor could get over her, he could certainly get over me. It was only a matter of time before I fucked things up irreparably and Melkor found another pet Ainu to torment.

So dark were my thoughts, and so doubtful my heart, that I paid no attention to where I was going. Forgetting that I was still in Utumno, with its myriad traps and hazards, I wandered in a reverie until someone said my name.

Then I looked up.

I was standing at the bottom of a familiar black marble amphitheater. Above me, on the rim of the arena, an unsettling yellow-green light flickered and flashed as Gothmog sidled into view.

I flinched at the sight of him. He was still burning. The fire had gnawed his fana down to a charred, skeletal shadow of his former self. I could only recognize him through his unpleasant grin and his brilliant yellow eyes.

“What happened to your face?” I asked, perhaps unwisely.

“You know exactly what happened, you little shit,” he said cheerfully, descending toward me. A wall of heat came with him. “You burned me, Mairon. Got me real good. Did you know it still hurts?” His creeping advance was matched by my steady retreat. “But it’s not all bad. I never get cold now. Metal melts in my hands. And watch this.” As I stared in disbelief, he unhinged his jaw and withdrew a sinuous whip of red fire from his open mouth. “I could never do that before. Guess I should thank you.”

“You're welcome,” I said, backing up until my heel banged into the steps behind me. I didn’t want to turn my back on Gothmog, but climbing blind would be awfully tricky.

“What’s wrong, Mairon? You’re shaking. You aren't scared, are you?” He toyed with the whip. It left scorch marks on the glossy floor. “No reason to be afraid of me.”

“No, no, of course not,” I said absently, trying to think of a way out. I could always piss him off more, but that didn't seem likely to help.

“But you should definitely be afraid of them,” he said smugly, tilting his bony chin up.

Three more fiery silhouettes appeared along the edges of the amphitheater. My stomach filled up with ice. I was surrounded, outnumbered, and supremely fucked.

I had never been in a fight before, unless my previous spat with Gothmog somehow counted. But I couldn't use the same trick twice.

So I stalled. “I see you made a few friends. Did they know what they were getting into?”

“Of course.” Gothmog shrugged. “I told them all about the eternal pain, but they figured it was worth it.” He spat. Embers flew. “As I recall, you gave me no warning. Just went ahead and set my ëala on fire.”

“I didn't know this would happen.” As the others closed in, the heat around me grew sweltering. I could feel the sweat rolling down my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Now you’re sorry?” He laughed harshly. “You're about to be more sorry than you could imagine.”

“Touch me at your peril,” I said desperately.

“You don't get it. I don’t care what the boss does to me afterward.” I could feel the flames licking against the back of my neck. “You made it personal. Although … ” Gothmog stroked his jaw in mock contemplation. “If you crawled on your belly and begged for it—with sniveling and tears and all—I might just let you go. You have a good face for groveling. That's probably why he likes you.”

I kicked him in the knee. It was not a terrible move. His remaining sinews were too weak to keep him on his feet.

But as he went down, the whip swung up. The fire didn’t hurt me, but the lashing certainly did. Then the other three jumped me, and I lost very badly. Very badly indeed.

It hurt a lot. I screamed for most of it. Near the end I lost track of myself, and sank blissfully into the nameless dark. When I returned to my aching fana, sprawled on the floor and drenched in blood and humiliation, my lips shaped his name before I could stop myself.

Gothmog snickered. “Nope. Just me. Is this what he does to you?” He ground his heel into my ribs. “I bet you love it when —”

Then he was gone.

I drew a rasping breath. Cold air rushed into my lungs. The ghastly yellow flames had disappeared, and the distant ceiling seemed to darken and blur behind a soft penumbra. I blinked. Even that was painful.

Then Melkor’s hand slipped under my head and cradled it. My eyes rolled back. I was that far gone.

“What madness compelled you?” he asked quietly.

My tongue would not move, but a strangled croak cut through the still air.

“No. I may yet wish to use you.”

Another croak. I belatedly realized he wasn't talking to me.

“Get out of my sight.”

Something slithered over the floor. In its absence, the silence seemed unnaturally loud. I coughed wetly.

“Hush.” He swept the bloodstained hair off my face. I still couldn't see him clearly, though my head lay on his lap. Ugly red bloomed over my vision.

With great effort, I forced the air out of my mouth and rasped, “What … are you doing here?”

“You called for me.”

“Told you … not to interfere.” I tried to sit up. My head swam.

“Surely you jest.”

“Believe me,” I said thickly, “I had it covered.”

“You did not.”

I gritted my teeth against the taste of iron. “What did I say? Let me drown.”

I could feel him looming over my shoulder, though I refused to look. His presence alone made me want to collapse into him, letting go of all the bitterness I had cultivated so carefully. I could not forgive him for that.

“Mairon,” he said stiffly, “you prayed to me.”

“I did not.”

“Deny it all you want, but I will not pretend I did not hear you just to save your pride.” He was breathing heavily. “You cannot demand that of me. I refuse. You are so —”

“What?” I clenched my fists. “Go on. What am I?”

“Mairon.”

“Just say it, you bastard. Stop acting like you know everything and tell me what you really think.”

“Beautiful,” he murmured, twisting the knot in my heart until my whole body curled in on itself.

“Leave me alone,” I begged. Sobs wracked me. I have no idea why he stayed as long as he did. When my pathetic weeping finally subsided, I lifted my head, but he was already gone.

So I dragged myself back here and destroyed everything I could reach. I don’t need any of it.

I certainly don't need him,
Mairon

Chapter Text

What a wretched year. I feel dull and dreary. My nose still bears a red welt from Gothmog’s whip. Dark, hideous bruises cover most of my body. My joints creak like rusty iron.

All I do is hide in the wreckage of my room, plotting my impossible revenge—on Melkor, on Gothmog, on everyone who has ever wronged me. It is a tragically long list. I feel slightly silly, crouching under a broken desk and naming each Vala in turn, but at least it keeps me busy.

Starting to regret burning my bed. I want to nap for the next century.

Tried sending a message to Thuri, but the cat refuses to come near me.

Guilty,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Langon interrupted my latest bout of self-pity. He hammered on my door until I threw it wide open.

“What?” I spat.

He glanced over me and squinted critically. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Is that all?”

“No. Got orders for you.” He cleared his throat. “I’m leading a company through Almaren to wipe out the last remnants of Manwë’s host.”

“So what?”

“Well, I’m enlisting you.”

“No.”

He shook his head, grinning slightly. “If you want to argue, take it up with the Master. He’s the one who put me in charge.”

I didn’t know if Melkor was using Langon to punish me, or if this was merely an unfortunate coincidence. I hesitated, chewing my lip. “We are not on speaking terms.”

Amusement flickered across his face. I wanted to punch him for that, but I wasn't ready to lose another fight just yet. “Then I guess you’re coming with me. Look,” he said, holding up his palms, “I don’t want to be your enemy. I saw what happened to Gothmog. I mean, he completely deserved it. Him and his big mouth.” Langon winked. “So the Master favors you. Nothing wrong with that. You're clearly talented, so I’d like to collaborate. Who knows? We might do great things together.”

“I’m not a soldier,” I said wearily.

“Oh, I know. You don't have to fight. I just need your help with this.”

He offered me a roll of papers that I recognized immediately. The spidery lines of his design were already imprinted in my brain.

I should have turned him down immediately.

Instead, I stuffed the roll into my pocket and asked, “How long?”

“The sooner, the better.” He gave me an oily smile. “Great to have you on board.”

I refused his handshake and sent him away. He is such an obnoxious twerp.

Still, I am quietly pleased to have a new project fall into my lap, no matter how shady and grim it might be. I was getting sick of rotting.

The work will keep me sane,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Fine. I admit it. There is something incredibly gratifying about this terrible device. In my head, I've started calling it the Box. It is coming along nicely, although the intricate mechanical workings require a great deal of patience. Based on Langon’s scribbles, I made some structural improvements, added a few blades, and removed all the unnecessary flourishes, keeping it light and efficient without sacrificing an ounce of pain. It's gorgeous work, if I do say so myself—strong, elegant, and delightfully shiny.

Of course, it won't remain shiny forever. There are blood channels carved into the metal, ensuring that each wound spills into a common reservoir, but it still seems quite messy. And the noises must be horrible.

As I labored, sharpening each blade to a point, I often imagined Melkor trapped within the Box. It is a pleasant image, albeit slightly sickening when I think about it too much. I'm not trying to kill him, but I believe a short visit might do him some good. Five minutes or less.

It would certainly cheer me up,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Finished the Box. When Langon came to collect, he was obviously impressed. He whistled and ran a hand along the smooth outer wall, marring the glossy metal with his fingerprints. But I didn't let it get to me. I stood there, arms folded, clutching my hammer like a talisman until he turned to me with a smirk.

“Really good job. It’s exactly what I was picturing.”

“It’s better,” I corrected him.

“Right. Sure. It'll work.” He pretended to concentrate, but his eyes kept darting back to me. “You know what? Let me do you a favor. Since you worked so hard on this, I'll go ahead and cross you off the list. You don't have to come with us to Almaren.”

The transparency of his little ruse was insulting. “No, that's alright,” I said calmly.

He waved me off. “Oh, come on. Surely you'd rather stay here. I won't hold it against you. Like you said, you're not a soldier.”

“Thank you for the remarkably kind offer, but I'm curious about how you intend to use this.” I tapped the metal with my fingernail. “Besides, what if it breaks?”

It would not break. But he didn't know that. The smirk slid off his round face.

“Look. Mairon. I think we would both be happier if you stayed in Utumno. That’s an order from your captain.” He paused. “Unless you want to take it up with the Master.”

“Sure.” My tone was breezy. “Shall I tell Melkor that you don't want me going with you?”

We stared at each other. Both of us were bluffing, but he didn't know that either.

Langon swallowed and bobbed his head. “Fine. If you really want to come, be my guest. We leave in six hours.” He looked back at the Box. “Will you help me carry this to the cart?”

“Oh, no. I'm sure you can handle it. Captain.” I bowed and got the hell out of there before he could insist.

I must say, I'm not particularly eager to see Almaren in ruins, or to get ambushed by Manwë’s surviving lackeys, but I don't intend to hand over a flawless torture machine and then just walk away. Though the idea of leaving Utumno is strangely unsettling. I've been here for over a decade. The caves under the Iron Mountains have already become more familiar to me than the dim, shattered world above. I fear that I won't recognize any of it.

After working things out with Langon, I went and found Thuri in the rookery. I had been avoiding her since my last, disastrous talk with Melkor. At times, my own cowardice disgusts me.

The rookery is a circular cavern with an open roof. Hundreds and hundreds of ravens and crows roost in the pockmarked stone. The stars shine down on their rustling black feathers and gleaming beaks. Thuringwethil lives there, in the shade of the eastern wall. The birds refuse to go near her. I think she eats them.

I told her I was going away and asked her to take care of the cat for me. “She mostly looks after herself,” I said, “but sometimes she gets lonely.”

Thuri nodded. “When will you be back?”

I didn't know.

“Did you speak to Melkor?”

I closed my eyes briefly. “He … does not want you here. We argued, but nothing good came of it. I'm sorry.”

Her voice remained serene. “Will you ask him again?”

“I’m not sure if I can.” I scratched out a laugh. “I don't want to see him right now.”

“Why not?”

I turned toward the past, expecting to find my outrage still burning. But even as I watched, the last spark flickered and died. I could not convince myself to hate Melkor just for making a pass at Varda. And my only other grievance boiled down to a misunderstanding in which he helped me and I resented him for it. Desperately, I dug through more memories, searching for the foundations of my anguish. My heart knew he had wronged me, but I could not prove it. I found only endless bickering built upon ephemeral pillars of pride and doubt. It exhausted me more than anything. I slumped against the wall.

“I would have to apologize,” I mumbled at last. “And I’d rather not.”

Thuri rolled her eyes. “Sit down.”

I sank onto the floor beside her. Her legs were crossed under her pitch-black cloak. Her back was straight and severe. Everything about her seemed angled and poised and dangerously sharp. But her voice was soft and husky as she asked, “What is he to you?”

I covered my eyes with my hand, as if I could prevent her from reading the truth shining through them. “I can’t say.”

“You need not lie to me.”

“I'm not lying. It's complicated.”

“I hear what the others whisper. They call you friends. Or lovers.”

“They don’t know shit.” I finally let the terror spill out of me. “Come on. This is Melkor. He isn't capable of friendship. Love.”

“According to who?”

I felt stupid even as I said it. “The Valar.”

She cocked her head. “You believe them?”

“They were mostly right about him.” I rubbed my brow. The rest came easily. “He is an arrogant, condescending, possessive asshole. He wants to destroy Arda just because it doesn't belong to him. Not completely. He takes beautiful things and he makes them worse. He ruins them. He creates monsters wherever he goes.” Inexplicably, I thought about Gothmog and felt a stab of pity. “Utumno itself is a ravenous beast. After it devours everything else, it will surely eat itself whole. I imagine he designed it after his own heart.”

She smiled. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I said vehemently. “It’s magnificent. None of his ideas should work, but they do.” I let my head tip back against the cold rock. “I want to study it. Refine it. Figure it out. I should be horrified, but … I’m weak, Thuri.” I could not keep the hunger out of my voice. “I want to make it better.”

We both fell silent. The birds croaked and circled overhead, hiding the stars behind their shadowy wings. The air was clear and cold as ice.

Thuri never mocked me, or admonished me, or pointed out that I was being ridiculous. But when she exhaled, her tone was prickly. “What keeps you from telling him?”

The question sliced me right down the middle. “Telling him what?” I asked, pretending my bare heart was not bleeding all over the floor.

She just looked at me.

“What if he doesn’t want me?” I whispered.

Her eyes narrowed fractionally.

My voice cracked. “Hell, what if he does?”

“Has the possibility of happiness ever crossed your mind?” she asked crisply.

It had not.

“Are you happy with him?”

“Yes. Sometimes.” I thought about the gray stone under the willows. “Often.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” I chuckled nervously. “He understands me too well. When we speak, it feels like he's listening to my thoughts instead of my words. But he hears everything I say. When we are together, all of his attention is on me, like I’m the most interesting thing in Arda. When we argue, I can feel him holding back. Sometimes I can see what he wants to do, and how much it costs him to put up with me. He makes me laugh. He thinks he's so scary. Sometimes he is. He acts like he doesn't care at all, but I swear, I can tell when he's blushing. Sometimes he smiles with his eyes. I don't think he knows about that.”

Thuri stopped me before I could embarrass myself any further. “Then what prevents you from apologizing?”

I hesitated, flustered by my own speech. My face and chest felt hot. “I’m safe from him,” I said slowly, “as long as I stay angry. I may be a vain, fickle, selfish idiot, but no one else controls me.” I buried my head between my knees. “But if I ask him for forgiveness, the wall comes down, and he can do whatever he wants. Why should I give him such power over me? He has so much already.”

“Does he use it?”

She was infuriatingly good. For the first time in a long while, I thought about the stolen pages of my diary. A crow landed nearby and regarded me with one beady eye. It cawed softly.

“Fine,” I mumbled, unfolding myself from the hard ground. “You win. As soon as I get back from Almaren, I’ll let Melkor know that I have been an unreasonably petty little bitch and I am completely at his mercy. Then I’ll beg him to let my good friend Thuri join the forces of darkness, Varda be damned. Would that make you happy?”

“Very.”

“Then I swear on my name that it will be done.”

Thuri arched a thin black eyebrow. “Swear on his.”

I could hardly refuse,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Writing this in a shoddy tent in the middle of nowhere. The stars are terribly bright out here.

Almost changed my mind about leaving, but I didn't want to give Langon the satisfaction. I reserve the right to desert if things turn sour.

Most of my wounds have healed completely, but I still possess a slight limp from the beating. My right leg refuses to bend all the way. I didn't think anyone had noticed, but just before we left, Thuri found me at the gate and offered me a walking stick.

“Try not to die,” she said flatly.

I promised her I would do my best.

When we departed, the sky was clear, but a thin, crunchy layer of snow covered the ground, shining in pale patches between the pine trees. Langon and the rest of the company set off on foot. I trailed them, counting heads. We possessed a score of Úmaiar, a handful of knuckle-dragging trolls, a hairy tusked beast with no name, and a few intangible spirits of dubious utility. The tusked beast pulled the cart with the Box. None of us spoke. Our breath steamed in the frigid air.

At the treeline, I paused to look back. The gaping mouth of Utumno’s south gate stood like a hole in the world, impenetrably black.

I could not see him, but I knew he was there. I felt him pulling me back like a ribbon around my neck. My instincts told me to ignore it and walk away before he could reel me in. Before I lost control of myself again.

Instead, I drew a shivering breath and knelt in the brittle field of snow, offering him a low bow. When I looked up, I was rewarded with a flash of white in the darkness—a sharp, curved smile. My cheeks turned red.

I had to run to catch up with the others. When Langon saw me, he asked what I was grinning about.

I played with my braid. “Do you think we'll be back soon?”

“Soon as we’re done.”

I am impatient already,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Writing this inside a makeshift jail cell. Things escalated very quickly.

It started with endless, drizzling rain. The sky refused to either storm or clear. The soft sound was soothing at first, then monotonous, then maddening. Through the misty heavens, the light of the stars turned gray and muted. We marched south through a foggy otherworld, as familiar and insubstantial as the landscape of my dreams. The devastation we passed along the way—steaming chasms, skeletal trees, hills reduced to rubble—felt equally weightless. My concern was primarily on keeping up and staying as dry as possible. For a while, I used a touch of magic to shield my head from the raindrops, but the damp crept in eventually. It invaded everything: my robes, my boots, the tents, the food. The air itself was wet. Brilliant green moss carpeted the fallen tree trunks and boulders strewn over our path. Everything I touched felt equally clammy and cold. The weather made even light conversation tedious. Dour silence reigned.

My mood was foul indeed by the time we reached the Great Lake, although the ensuing shock snapped me right out of it.

The lake was gone. The waters had descended into a fen, a maze of stagnant pools and reeds. Almaren, once an island, was now reduced to a heap of broken cliffs and crumbling walls rising up out of the swamp.

Something frantic and wild clawed at my chest as the broken windows of Manwë’s halls loomed out of the fog. I did not feel sad. Sadness was too small to encompass this. Almaren, my first home, my prison, my sanctuary, was dead. Its corpse inflicted terrible awe.

“Careful, now,” Langon murmured. “We aren't the only ones here.”

At first I did not believe him. When the rain finally ceased, a deafening quiet fell over us. The ruins were lifeless. Nothing stirred in those muddy, sunken streets. Disturbing them felt like sacrilege. I flinched at each memory we passed: an engraved tile from the gardens of Yavanna, a cracked blue goblet taken from Ulmo’s table, a scrap of mail undoubtedly forged under Aulë’s watchful eye. Despite my best efforts, I kept imagining the chaos that must have erupted here when the Lamps fell, and the sky darkened, and the ground began to buckle and billow like a great wave. I could almost hear the wailing. I didn’t like it. Guilt has never suited me. If I could cut away the part of me which conjures such morbid, pointless illusions, I would do so gladly.

We made camp in an old tower near the north shore. The earthquakes had taken it from vertical to horizontal, but the walls remained intact. It was a hollow, echoing tube, already collecting swamp water along the bottom, and it buzzed with flies. The distaste I felt for that place requires no elaboration. I volunteered for sentry duty immediately. Anything to get out of there.

On a grassy hill nearby, hidden by a tumble of granite blocks overrun with greenery, I witnessed the following:

-A cloud shaped like a hand
-A brawl between two wildcats
-Moss growing on an overturned shield
-A nest of wasps in a clay jug
-And, naturally, every single member of our company sneaking off into the ruins alone

That last point fascinated me. One at a time, as if taking turns, a slow, uneven trickle of Ainur crept out of the camp, disappeared into the muddy maze beyond, and came back a few hours later via the same stealthy, roundabout route. They would always return with something new—a cask, a chest, a basket, a helmet—and so I concluded they were looting the place on the sly. Once or twice, Langon led a larger host to poke around and gather supplies, but those riches were bound for Utumno, where Melkor would pick out his favorite pieces and leave only dregs for the rest of us. Everyone knew that. I suppose they wanted more.

From my hilltop they resembled a trail of ants. I found the whole thing vulgar and funny at the same time. In my mind, seeing a marble bust of Varda clutched in the arms of a seedy little Úmaia was amusing enough to justify the whole trip.

Aside from spying on our own forces, my hours were slow and idle. There was no sign of our enemy. To keep myself occupied, I started planning a redesign of Melkor’s foundry in my head. I had just worked out an optimal route for hauling in raw supplies and distributing them to each smith when I noticed that something was wrong.

The cart was missing. Which meant the Box was missing.

Both had been resting in the shade of the fallen tower since we arrived. I was supposed to keep an eye on them, of course, but I'd hardly expected them to vanish on me. I had been distracted by visions of the perfect foundry for less than an hour. That someone might have snuck past me, dragging the whole cart with the Box inside, was unthinkable, unless Tulkas himself had waltzed into the camp and carried it off on his shoulders. The thing weighed four tons.

Then I realized our tusked beast was no longer grazing in the pasture just east of the tower. The grim facts began to add up. Someone had stolen the beast, the cart, and the Box. On my watch. Which meant it was technically my fault.

I panicked. Instead of searching for Langon, or alerting the rest of the company, I abandoned my post on the hill and ran straight to the place where the cart had been. Sure enough, there were wheel tracks pressed into the mud, collecting water in narrow puddles. They went south and east, deeper into the wreckage of Almaren.

My only thought was that I might still catch up with them. It was a bad thought, but I clung to it and allowed myself no further rumination. I set off immediately, pushing through cattails and lily pads, wading in knee-deep water, following the swampy ruts of the wagon wheels as they dipped and rose. I was driven primarily by the indignation of having my own work stolen out from under my nose. It was not one of my finer moments.

The tracks ended in a little valley thick with aspens. I did not recognize it, but it must have been a sacred place before the Lamps fell. The very air hummed with the memory of power. The ground was littered with dozens of toppled columns carved with animal heads, both wild and tame, their staring eyes now closed under lids of lichen.

In the center of the valley was a red stag lashed to a tree. It was badly mutilated. I could see its ribs. Blood ran down its neck. Its liquid eyes rolled in pain, and it made a high, keening sound that I had never heard from a deer before.

The sight of it was so grotesque that I moved toward it before I could stop myself, imagining that I would put it out of its misery.

“Stop!” someone shouted from the bushes to my right. “Mairon, you idiot, don’t move another fucking inch. That's an order.”

I froze. “Langon?”

“Captain Langon,” he corrected me in a strained voice. “What are you doing here? I thought you were on sentry duty.”

“I was. Where’s the Box?”

“Look up.”

I tilted my head back.

It was in the trees directly above me, gaping open like a hungry maw. At first it appeared to be floating, but in fact it was suspended by thin, translucent lines that glittered faintly in the starlight. I followed one thread down to the ground just in front of me, where a tripwire was stretched taut mere inches from my ankle.

“What is this?” I whispered. “What the hell have you done?”

Langon told me to take a step back, so I did. I was slightly stunned, I think, by how close I came to impalement. I didn't feel afraid until I crouched down in the bushes next to him and took a deep breath. Then I started quaking in my boots. The eerie wailing of the stag continued. I wanted to throw up.

“You nearly ruined everything,” Langon said, although his absent-minded tone was not particularly harsh. It felt like he was talking to himself. “Nearly fucked the whole thing up. What if you got trapped in there? How would I ever explain … ” His gaze turned blank for a moment as unseen horrors flashed across his face. He shuddered. “Forget it. Lucky I stopped you in time.”

“Why did you build a death trap in the middle of the woods?” I hissed.

“Keep your voice down.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don't have to explain anything to you. You know that, right?”

“If you don't start explaining, I'm cutting the Box down and taking it home.”

He bristled. The wind rustled through the leaves, making the trees whisper together. “Fine,” he huffed. “It’s for Oromë.”

“What?” I glanced back at the wounded stag. “Why Oromë?”

“I have reason to believe he's somewhere in the ruins. The animal will draw him out. If he's half as stupid as you are, he'll blunder right into the wire before he even realizes we’re here.” As Langon spoke, an infectious sense of excitement crept into his voice. “And you know what? I'm feeling generous, so despite all your insubordination and crap, I'll cut you a deal. You get half.”

“Half of what?”

“The power, Mairon!” he said impatiently. “Oromë’s power. Why do you think I volunteered to come down here in the first place? For the glory of stealing a few pots and pans?” He threw his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. He was inexplicably greasy. “Think bigger. Much bigger. I’m offering you the chance to become a Vala. Well. Half a Vala. Still, it’s better than what we are now, right?” His fingers dug in. “Pawns for Manwë, or tools for the Master. I'm sick of it. Aren't you?”

His words neatly echoed my own thoughts. In this very diary I have often lamented the deplorable choice between Melkor and the Valar. Once, I would have jumped at the opportunity to replace them.

Still, I hesitated.

“Sure, the Master favors you now,” Langon said, predicting the course of my mind with frustrating accuracy. “But you don't seem like the type who wants to live at someone else's mercy. I get it. I’m the same way. You're proud, aren't you? What happens if you get sick of dancing to his tune? What if he gets tired of you?”

“I know what you’re trying to do,” I said quietly.

“But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. Maybe Melkor will be good to you forever. That’s a lovely thought.” Langon cleared his throat. “But if I were you, I'd want a backup plan. Besides, he shouldn’t have a problem with any of this. We’re taking out a Vala for him. Doing him a favor, really. Or are you worried he might lose interest if you come back with enough power to stand up for yourself?”

I swallowed. “That’s not it.”

“So maybe you prefer getting dragged around. Good for you.” Langon shrugged. “But we can't all be so lucky. See, I like to make my own decisions, even if they contradict the Master. And as you can imagine, he doesn't look kindly upon that.” His words came faster and faster, as if he could sense me trying to drown them out. “Throw me a bone, Mairon. I need some leverage or he’ll crush me just for disagreeing with him. What else am I supposed to do? We can’t all be fucking him.”

“I’m not —”

“Shh!” Langon threw himself to the ground. On his belly, he hissed, “He’s here. Get down.”

I obeyed. Oromë had never frightened me before, but I’d never dreamed of making him my enemy. My heart hammered wildly as I pressed myself against the forest floor. I stared at the bloody stag through a thick screen of foliage. It stopped keening. Silence fell over the valley.

For a long moment, nothing moved. Then a horse’s whinny broke the stillness.

“Patience, Nahar,” Oromë said.

His slow, easy voice was just a few feet away. I held my breath and inched my head to the left.

The branches blocked my view of everything except his boots. They were made of soft, supple leather, moving gently over the fallen leaves without disturbing them. He left no footprints.

The stag bellowed, drawing the sound out into an aching groan. Oromë stopped.

“Why?” he breathed. The pain in his question made me flinch.

He took another step toward the tripwire, and everything sprang into focus. The edge of each leaf and branch glowed with silver light. The air grew thick and heavy as my hands pressed down into the damp, crumbling soil.

Of course, Langon was right.

Melkor is better than Aulë. But he is also fickle and cruel, prone to disappearing for years at a time, strange in his whims and stubborn in his demands. No matter how I feel about him, I cannot trust him. To deliver my life into his hands without an escape plan would be unbelievably stupid.

Langon’s solution was perfect. I didn't have to lose Melkor. I would merely become his equal. His match. He wouldn't be able to control me anymore. If he abandoned me, I wouldn't be left completely helpless without him. I was more than willing to sacrifice Oromë for that.

And I did sympathize with Langon, in spite of his underhanded ways and his smug little face. He had it even worse than I did, the poor bastard. At least Melkor actually liked me.

Besides, I didn't even know if the trap would work.

These were the thoughts distracting me as I came crashing out of the bushes, screaming “Stop!” and badly surprising both Oromë and myself.

Unfortunately, my timing was off. He had just blundered into the wire.

I caught a brief glimpse of his stern, shocked face before I yanked him back. The Box fell on top of him, but the angle was wrong. He yelled incoherently as several of the blades bit into his back. His body was caught in the door, propping it open.

I was about to pull him out of it when Langon tackled me from behind. Together, we rolled into a patch of mud. He was clawing and biting and cursing me in one long, unending breath. I kicked at him blindly. Somehow, I was winning until he grabbed my braid and yanked it. Through the tears in my eyes I saw Oromë struggle free of the Box, lift his bow, and loose an arrow directly into the heart of the red stag.

“Fucking ruined it,” Langon snarled, grabbing my throat. I sputtered. Over my wheezing, the sound of a galloping horse receded swiftly into the distance. “I’ll never catch him now and you ruined it!”

“You would make an awful Vala,” I coughed, which was not the right thing to say.

He quickly pinned me and huffed out a few more insults before lapsing into a gasping silence. “You snake,” he muttered at last. “What was I thinking? You’re his pet, his puppet. How could I be so stupid?”

“Will you get off me?” My question was slightly muffled by the earth pressed against my face.

“You better not run.”

“I'm not going to fucking run.”

After a moment of consideration, he kindly took his knee off my back and allowed me to climb to my feet. My cuts and bruises complained, but it was nothing compared to what Gothmog had done. Still, I was getting tired of losing.

“You are a real piece of shit. Did you know that?” Langon wiped the blood off his lips and eyed me with distaste.

“Sure.”

“Come on. We're going back to camp.”

I didn't move until he pulled a knife from his belt. Then I walked ahead of him, marveling at my complete lack of regret. My heart was light. I felt like whistling.

“By the Master,” Langon muttered, “look at the position you’ve put me in. You deserted your post, disobeyed me, sabotaged my plan, and helped the enemy escape with knowledge of our whereabouts. You did everything wrong. Everything.” His voice rose into a whine. “You should be executed for this.”

“Execute me, then.”

“Great idea. Wonderful idea. And when the Master comes sniffing around, asking about his favorite Maia, do you think he'll kill me quickly or slowly when he finds out what happened to you?”

“Very slowly,” I purred.

“Right. Glad we understand each other. You betrayed me because you knew you would get away with it.” He sighed. “And when I call you a piece of shit, this is exactly what I'm talking about.”

I had nothing to say to that. He was right.

When we arrived back at the camp, Langon had his people construct a wooden cage around me. They stuck me inside the fallen tower and shunned me aggressively. I have no idea what he told them, but found the whole process faintly amusing. I certainly wasn't trying to escape. Not after our last conversation.

Just a few hours ago, Langon pulled up a chair outside my cell. “The enemy knows we’re here,” he said bluntly. “They're gathering to the south as we speak. At least a hundred Maiar. Maybe more.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because it's your fault.” He leaned in. “Oromë is leading them. And he’s pissed.”

“Ah.”

“But don't worry. Your judgment will arrive soon enough.” Langon's voice shook slightly, but his eyes glittered with malice. “Since you left me with no other option, I summoned the only Ainu who would dare sentence you to anything more severe than a slap on the wrist.”

My heart leapt. “He’s coming here?”

“Immediately.” Langon’s mouth twisted. “And he's bringing reinforcements. Nothing would make me happier than to see Oromë’s host destroyed and your pretty little head rolling at the same time. Who knows? Maybe the Master will agree with me. Just this once.”

“Maybe,” I said, grinning.

But I doubt it,
Mairon

Chapter Text

My hands betray me by trembling, and my mind by wandering, and my heart by burning. In spite of all this treachery, I must write it down before I forget anything.

This is how it happened:

Melkor arrived with trumpets and fanfare aplenty. The ground trembled at his approach. White bolts of lightning shattered the sky, and thunder pealed, and murders of crows went shrieking over our heads. I found the whole show melodramatic and inexplicably thrilling. I was used to him coming and going like a shadow, slipping in and out of my life as he pleased, but I had never seen him ride to war.

We were waiting for him in the shade of the fallen tower. Langon had been tall and righteous when he ordered my cage brought out to watch the Master’s host approach, but with each passing minute, he shrank a little further into his collar, deflating slowly before the gathering storm.

Melkor cut a swath of inky black across the lakebed. Wherever he stepped, darkness followed. His retinue of beasts, demons, and assorted foul and loathsome creatures trailed him in a ragged procession, made even more monstrous by the billowing fog. Trees snapped and groaned and fell at their passing, and all green things withered and died.

I was sanguine; fear seemed impossible. But a threat of uncertainty ran through me as Melkor drew closer. The crowd behind him was large and unfamiliar, bristling with weapons, clearly slavering for blood. And his face was closed, a cold mask I knew well and yet could not read. He was upon us before I could think of anything good to say.

“Welcome, Lord of Arda. You honor us with your presence.” Langon knelt, bowing his head down to the mud. “My company is yours to command.”

Melkor did not respond. He glanced at me and his lips compressed into a thin line. “Release him,” he ordered, sweeping past us without stopping.

I smiled. Langon blanched. His hands twitched in a half-hearted gesture of protest. “But Master, your judgement … You haven't even heard his crime.”

Melkor turned on his heel, the trace of a sneer on his pale face. “You waste my time on this trifle while Oromë prepares to overrun us? Question me again, Langon, and my answer will not come in words. Let him go.” As he spoke, his host streamed in from the north, surrounding us until we stood in the center of a shifting circle of dark shapes and horned heads. They quickly busied themselves with pitching tents, sharpening blades, and piling up barricades around the tower. Melkor moved to rejoin them.

Then, with a burst of courage that shocked me, Langon snapped, “Mairon betrayed us to Oromë, my lord. Will you not spare a moment to consider that? Or is he truly above reproach?”

Tiny flakes of snow began spiraling down from the gray clouds overhead. Langon was panting with the force of his outburst, even as he fell to his knees. “Please,” he mumbled.

I nearly laughed before I saw Melkor’s face. He looked at me blankly, cutting right through me with the edge of his doubt. Outrage clamped my throat shut. That he should even consider believing Langon for an instant seemed absurdly unfair. I was not prepared to defend myself, for I had foolishly imagined Melkor would think me incapable of treason. My own loyalties felt so obvious, so pathetically transparent, even to him. Especially to him. But as he turned the full weight of his scrutiny upon me, I quailed, indignation giving way to dread. His visage was bleak and terrible. He had never raked over me with such suspicion before, nor pinned me with the awful black lights now dancing in his eyes. He grew until the whole world was lost under the dark curve of his cloak, and I was small and completely alone.

His gaze stripped away everything but the flame of my ëala, trapping me so quickly and so effortlessly that I could not hope to resist him. As he showed me how easy it was, I realized that even the strength of Oromë would not have protected me against him. My defenses fell, leaving me bare and exposed to the agony of his attention. His voice burned like ice against my skin as he asked, “Is this true?”

He was scared.

“Do you really not know?” I wondered in amazement, “that I’m sick for you?”

He withdrew suddenly, leaving me gasping on the floor of my cell. I felt empty and limp. My mouth tasted like dirt. I propped myself up on my elbows, praying that no one else had heard my confession. Bad enough to cower and collapse in front of the whole camp without publicly spilling my guts as well.

Melkor was already walking away. His velvet cloak rippled like water in his wake.

I climbed to my feet as a dull anger pulsed behind my eyes. I could scarcely believe he would leave me like that, no matter how ugly our last conversation had been. I thought back to the sweet, silly fantasies Thuri had planted in my head. Hot tears welled up and ran down my face. I scrubbed at them blindly, swearing that I would not embarrass myself any further. As usual, I was wrong.

“Your judgement?” Langon called after him.

“Free him,” Melkor said dismissively. “Now.”

Even though I still felt awful, I went ahead and incinerated my cage, just to prove that I could. Langon glared, but he didn't dare intervene. Only when I started staggering after Melkor did he speak.

“Mairon. Hey. Where are you going? Wait.” Langon grabbed my wrist and then yelped, withdrawing his smoking hand.

Around us, Melkor’s people stared carelessly as we passed. Their heads turned to follow me. Torchlight glinted off their black helmets. Some of them whispered in harsh, mocking voices. I kept my chin up and tried to ignore them, even though I could feel the shameful heat in my cheeks, and the scrapes from my tussle with Langon, and the soil caking my robes. My soul ached like a cloth wrung dry. I was a mess.

Up ahead, I saw Melkor duck into a regal black pavilion, but Langon threw himself in front of me before I could reach it. His eyes were wide. “What are you going to say?”

“Come with me and you’ll find out,” I suggested, trying to dodge around him. But the slippery bastard kept moving.

“Sure,” he said venomously. “You know I can’t just barge into the Master’s tent, right? If we both walk in together, I’m never walking out.”

“How fortunate for me.”

Langon licked his lips. “Please don’t tell him about the plan.”

“What plan?”

“Please, Mairon. I’ll do anything. You know. Within reason.”

“Why would I trust you?”

“I trusted you. Didn’t I?” He gave a hollow chuckle. “What a terrible mistake that turned out to be.”

“Fine.”

He paused. Sweat beaded on his pasty forehead. “Really?”

“I won't tell him about your little scheme,” I hissed, leaning in until he recoiled. He must have seen the madness in my eyes. “But you owe me a favor. A big one. And when I come to collect, you better be ready. Don't forget.”

After a moment of fearful hesitation, Langon nodded. “Deal.”

“Get out of my way.”

He shrank back. Which was smart, because I was more than willing to go through him. The pavilion was right in front of me, and I wanted to sink my teeth into something. Still fuming, I threw the canvas door aside and stepped into the shadows within.

The walls were made of thick fabric, muffling both sound and light. Candles burned in each corner. With my arrival, their flickering light exploded into brief, searing fury. Then they were all snuffed out, drowned in puddles of their own wax. Darkness fell.

“I was using those,” Melkor said mildly. I could tell from his voice that he was only a few feet away.

I started walking toward him and ran into a table. It hurt a lot. I cursed it, and cursed all tables, and cursed Melkor for good measure.

“Are you done?”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that an offer or a threat?”

“I can't believe you thought I would sell you out. To Oromë. Fucking Oromë.” I wiped my sniveling nose. At least he couldn't see me in here. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Pensive silence. Then Melkor said, “I did not find it likely.” His voice was very low. “Before Langon accused you, I had never considered the possibility of your betrayal. It never even crossed my mind. Not once.” He exhaled. I felt the cold air swirl against my face. “I was terrified,” he murmured, “that you had blinded me entirely. I had to check.”

“You could have asked me first.”

“Fear made me hasty. And crude. I did not intend to hurt you.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” I spat. “Because it sucks.”

I had to cross my arms against the sudden chill. Goosebumps prickled down my neck as Melkor’s tone turned stiff. “Do not test me. This is no time for a quarrel.” I felt him move. His footsteps made the earth tremble. “We will speak again when Oromë’s host is dead or gone. But not like this. Not now.”

I shied away from the rustle of his robes. I knew he was reaching for me. My feet danced back. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Mairon.”

“I don’t get it. You’re full of pathetic excuses, but you don’t have enough time to apologize?”

“I’m sorry,” he said shortly.

“You will be.”

“Enough. My patience wears thin.” His words were flat and expressionless. “I set you free. Was that another mistake?”

“I was waiting for you, Melkor.” I hated myself for the way my voice warbled and broke on his name. I had to swallow before I continued. “And you pulled that shit, you made me say it, and then you walked right past me like you didn’t even care. You left me. Again. As if … ” I had to stop. Sick was the right word for it. I felt sick with wanting.

He said nothing.

“I wish you had a heart,” I whispered, “so I could hurt you back. Because I can't stand it, knowing I'm the only one —”

“Stop.”

I clamped my mouth shut. Then, weary beyond belief, I sank to the ground, clutching my knees. The cool earthen floor soothed my hot skin. “If you want to get rid of me,” I muttered into my collar, “you can go ahead and leave. But I'm not moving.”

I listened closely, anticipating the bleak scrape of his boots. But he did not leave.

Instead, to my surprise, he laughed. It was a curiously gentle sound. There was pity in it, but no scorn. It felt like a warm hand on my back. The tight band around my chest softened and I could finally breathe again.

“Ah, Mairon,” he sighed. “I walked past you because I wanted to avoid your ire. But I see now that would have been impossible. For if I stormed to your side, and broke down the bars, and carried you away in my arms—as I wished to—would you not now be berating me for my impudence? You told me to leave you alone.”

“But … ” My fingers dug into the ground as pleasantly vivid images filled my head. “That’s different. I wouldn’t be mad if you did that.”

“Then I must be imagining your fervent protests the last time I tried to rescue you.” Exasperation and tenderness mingled in his voice. “You were choking on blood, as I recall, and still begging me to stay out of it. Am I mistaken?”

He was not mistaken. My heart pounded. I felt cornered. “Stop it,” I said weakly. “You’re twisting my words.”

“As you say.”

“You are,” I insisted. “I never asked you to ignore me.”

He snorted. Then, in a catty and surprisingly accurate imitation of my voice, he said, “Let me drown.”

The darkness hid my flush. “Shut up.”

“I cannot obey both your words and your desires when they contradict each other. What do you want, Mairon?”

“Isn't it obvious?”

“Admit it.”

I gritted my teeth. “So now you're making me beg?”

“Begging suits you.” His tone was light and amused. “But all I need is the truth.”

He had uprooted me completely. I climbed to my feet, swaying as space and time revolved around me. I stumbled and nearly fell before he caught me. One moment I was tipping forward into the abyss, and then his firm hands were inexplicably squeezing my shoulders. I'm still not sure how he found me in the dark.

He held me lightly, as if already preparing to let me go. It would have been so easy for me to step back, and start another argument, and hurt him as much as I could before he realized that I was poison.

“Mairon —” he said, but I was tired of hearing his cool, steady voice.

I raised myself up onto my toes and kissed him. Lightly, at first. His mouth was soft and tasted like stone and smoke. He held very still. I feared for a moment that I’d fucked up irrevocably.

Then his hand wrapped behind my head and yanked me against him. My feet left the floor. I couldn’t breathe. It didn’t matter. I could see him again. Light was streaming from my face. He looked wild, his composure broken, his expression blind with hunger. He groaned low in his throat. I squeezed my eyes shut.

I will never be free of him. Kissing him was far sweeter than freedom. I wanted nothing else. I doubt I ever will. My toes curled as an impossible warmth bloomed in my chest.

We might have stayed like that forever if not for the horns. Their mournful notes reached me from across a vast distance, tugging me back to reality.

Oromë was riding to war.

I tried to pull away, but Melkor pressed forward, pursuing me until I was bent backward over the table. “Melkor,” I said reluctantly. He tightened his grip. “Melkor!”

“What?” he snarled.

Then he heard them. He let go of me and cursed Oromë with language so vile that I dare not repeat it.

“I will return,” he muttered eventually, wiping his face.

“I'll go with you.”

“No! No. You will stay here.” Melkor glared. The effect was only somewhat diminished by him leaning forward and kissing me again, swiftly and roughly. “Stay here, and when I come back … ” He glanced down at me. His black eyes curved into crescents.

“As you wish,” I murmured, “my lord.”

But that was hours ago. I keep hearing muffled screams and the clash of metal on metal. He can't seriously expect me to wait in this stupid tent forever. What if he never comes back?

I'm going after him,
Mairon

Chapter Text

When my patience finally ran out, I emerged from Melkor’s pavilion, blinking in the faint gray starlight, and found the camp nearly deserted. Aside from a wounded, hairy creature snarling on the ground and a few soldiers hurriedly grabbing a set of pikes, I was alone. No one stopped me as I marched through the snow and the mud, dirtying my robes and soaking my boots once again. Following the clamor of iron and death, I climbed the hill where I had stood guard before the incident with Langon. From there, I saw the whole field of battle spread over the tumbled ruins below.

I found Melkor first. He was impossible to miss. He stood head and shoulders above the rest, cloaked in shadow, limned by terribly cold light. Thunderclouds gathered around his crown, and bright metal flashed in his hands, and blood pooled at his feet. My dreams of reaching him were shattered instantly, for he stood in the eye of the storm. All around him was chaos and smoke. I would have been killed a dozen times over before I made it to his side.

Still, at least I could see him. My cheeks warmed with a strange sense of pride. I both pitied and envied the poor Maiar who stood in his way—pitied them for their gruesome ends, and envied them for touching, however briefly, the divinity he wielded like a blade.

And he was winning. Or so it appeared, though I found it hard to tell for sure. I had never seen a battle up close, and found the experience both ugly and confusing. It was so messy. Individual soldiers were impossible to track. Little skirmishes left wounds and stains that made one body blend into the next. Whole companies charged forward and were cut down immediately. Bursts of sorcery and lightning left white sparks dancing in my eyes. And the yelling was horrible. It never stopped. As a whole, it left me dizzy and disgusted, even from a distance. I could not imagine wading through it.

But as I waited, watching Melkor, gradually my vision changed. I ignored the tiny figures running and rolling and bleeding on the ground. I blotted out their miserable sounds. Beyond them, larger waves of motion rippled up and down the line. They crashed against each other over and over, leaving eddies to spin out in circles of slaughter. There was a pattern here. I grasped it. At the same time, I realized that Melkor could see it too. He was not charging blindly; he was channeling the waves, directing them around him as they gathered speed and fury. From my hilltop, it looked like a beautiful and terrifying game.

Then I noticed something else. There was a gap in our front lines. South and east of me, Oromë’s people surged forth, spilling uncontrollably through our ranks. Their direction was unmistakable. They were heading toward the valley with the aspen grove.

I thought of the Box. My blood ran cold. I wasn't sure if Langon had been stupid enough to leave it lying around, but I feared the worst.

So I ran. I was closer than they were, and none of Melkor’s beasts stood in my way. I made it there first.

Everything was the same—the stone animals with their blind green eyes, the dead stag moldering under a tree, and the Box lying on its side, half-sunken into the mud. I knelt down beside it and tried to think, though my mind kept drifting back to fantasies of throttling Langon in his sleep.

I couldn’t let Oromë have it. He would destroy it. The artistry I had given to its elegant curves and sharp edges would be wasted. Or perhaps he would take it, although I imagined the Valar would find its cruelty abhorrent. Either way, if it fell into their hands, it was as good as gone. I had to move quickly if I wanted to save it.

But I faltered and failed to act. Instead, driven by some kind of madness, my gaze drifted to the scarlet droplets still clinging to the metal. Oromë’s blood had not dried or evaporated. It gleamed in dull red beads along the blades.

Inspired by a childish impulse, I stuck my thumb out, letting a drop of ichor stain my skin. Then I lifted it up to my lips.

It tasted like white stars over snowy fields, and riding slowly through a flowering meadow, and dark eyes hidden in leaves and shadows. It was only a spark of his power, but it infused me with the same bubbling energy as the light of Illuin. I wanted to hunt something.

Behind me, someone gasped. I sprang to my feet.

“Mairon?” The voice was thick with disbelief.

A Maia of Oromë stood twelve feet away, holding a silver bow and eyeing me doubtfully. I could not name him, but I recognized his pale face. The familiarity of it made me wince. I must have seen him somewhere on Almaren, long before the island and I were both changed forever. I tried to remember what the old Mairon might have said.

“It is you, isn’t it?” he asked. Heavy footsteps and muttered commands drifted out of the woods behind him. The rest of his company would soon be upon us.

“Yes,” I admitted. “It is I, Mairon of Aulë.” The words felt stiff and dry in my mouth. I gave him a cheesy grin to compensate.

“I thought you followed the Enemy into shadow,” he said cautiously. But his bow was not pointed at me.

“No. Unfortunately, I—I’m his prisoner.” For once, I was grateful for my disheveled appearance. It made me look more like a runaway and less like a prince consort.

The Maia’s brow wrinkled. “Is that … blood on your lips?”

Well, shit. “Yes,” I said, working my way up to a teary explanation of how Melkor had slapped me around before I made my escape.

But I was saved by the sound of Valaróma, which cleaved the air and pierced me with a shuddering fear. It was terribly loud and close, shaking the golden leaves off the aspens with the force of its blowing. Rapidly approaching hoofbeats followed just behind it. The Maia whirled around and cried, “Lord Oromë —”

“After him!” Oromë shouted. I couldn’t see him yet, but his voice was full of frothing rage. I thought I was doomed.

But he wasn’t talking about me.

A horse leapt out of the trees, black and monstrously huge, bearing a dark rider who laughed as he tossed me over the saddle like a sack of flour. The last thing I saw was the Maia’s shocked white face, gaping as Melkor galloped away.

Then there was only the blur of the earth racing under me, just a few feet away from my nose. My position was not particularly comfortable. The saddle pressed rigidly into my belly. The weight of my dangling head combined with the speed of the horse gave me a paralyzing sense of vertigo. I felt like I was about to tip forward and bash my face into the dirt. But Melkor’s hand stayed firm against my back, keeping me pinned in place.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I groaned.

“I could ask you the same question,” he said. Behind us, Valaróma cried out again, splitting my ears. I was faintly gratified to feel Melkor flinch at the sound. “You just wandered through the heart of Oromë’s company. Are you sure you weren't planning to betray me?”

“I almost wish I had.” We jumped over a stream. My stomach lurched. “Put me down, Melkor. This is ridiculous.”

“But the view pleases me.” I could hear the smirk in his voice. “And we are nearly there.”

“Melkor —”

“Here,” he said, pulling up short. Before I could protest, he lifted me off the horse and set me back on my feet.

We were back in the camp, surrounded by tents and dirty, weary Úmaiar. I caught my breath and tried not to blush. It was difficult, given the circumstances of my arrival. When I turned, Melkor was already leaning over me, mere inches away from my skin. I swallowed and glared up at him, although my anger was half-hearted at best. Though he was stained and torn and bloodied, his face glowed with triumph; he looked unreasonably pleased. There was red in his silky black hair.

“Now you will tell me why you disobeyed my orders,” he said. The horse beneath him snorted. I could have sworn he was laughing at me.

My mouth opened and shut.

Because I had a justification, of course. I always did, even though it often boiled down to nothing more than fuck you, I do what I want.

And I could have said that, but it felt wrong. There were too many eyes upon us. Melkor knew how I spoke and what I meant. He would understand me perfectly. But I didn’t want to diminish him, even in front of a handful of filthy eavesdroppers.

So I bit my tongue and bowed my head. “I feared for you, my lord,” I said contritely. “Punish me if you must.” I glanced up at him through my lowered lashes.

His nostrils flared. He seemed startled at first, and then reluctantly impressed. I think he knows me too well.

“Next time,” he said thickly, “you will keep your promises.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I swore I would return,” he continued, his voice dropping until only I could hear it. “You should know better than to fear for me. Or was that merely an excuse?”

I shook my head.

He lifted the reins, and his horse took a few dancing steps forward. “Where are you going now?” I snapped.

“To fight Oromë. And win.” He smiled at my sudden ire. “Patience, flame. It’s nearly over.”

“Take me with you.”

“No. Not yet.” Melkor placed a heavy hand on my shoulder, leaning in until his dark hair curtained me. “This is not your battle. They are desperate, trapped, and dangerous. I would not have you scarred before I teach you how to fight.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Gladly.” His teeth shone sharp and white. “Since you keep losing.”

Then his horse reared back. He bolted before I could respond to his insult. It was a heinous and cowardly trick.

But I'll get him next time,
Mairon

Chapter Text

We won. I won't get into all the grisly details. When his host finally collapsed, Oromë fled southward with the last of his strength. The battlefield is charred and blackened, still steaming in places. Our tents are coming down as quickly as they went up. Soon we will march back to Utumno, laden with the unspoiled treasures of Almaren: tools and jewelry, barrels of golden mead, rolls of silk, leather hides, and enough good food for the next century. I am most delighted by that last detail.

And Melkor is happy. I could not reach him in the ruckus after the battle, surrounded as he was by fawning soldiers and supplicants, but I could read it well enough in the tilt of his head and his glittering eyes. Even crownless, he looked like a king.

To celebrate our victory, we feasted under the stars, gorging ourselves on the harvest of Almaren. We sat at a long wooden table scavenged from the ruins, ringed by torches and shadows. Mangy, shaggy beasts stalked between the benches, brawling and begging for scraps. The sky was a clear, celestial black. Everything felt perfectly aligned in that moment, as if a great wheel had just rolled into place. I drank raspberry wine and watched Melkor.

He sat at the head of the table, of course. Everything revolved around him. The food, the conversation, the jokes, the laughter, the boasts, the compliments—they were all directed toward him, however subtly.

An empty chair stood beside him. It could have been mine, but eager as I was for his company, I felt no desire to join the flock of sycophants hovering at his side. I could see Langon at his right elbow, talking animatedly. To his left was a flaming shade who looked like one of Gothmog’s friends. A stream of wraiths and demons and other fell creatures swirled around him. He was the rock in the center of the river, imperious and untouchable. I dug into my venison.

I wanted him to myself.

But every time I glanced up, his eyes were on me. So the rest of the long table, the company, and the world melted away under the heat of his gaze, and I reassured myself that he was still mine. So small seemed the distance that I could almost reach out and touch him. In the middle of the crowd, we sat together in silence.

Until he looked away. Then the noises returned—the clink of dishes, the smacking of lips, the crude chatter—and I lowered my head. But each time I raised it again, he was looking right at me.

I feel remarkably stupid, and happy, and ready for whatever Utumno might bring.

There's just one thing I have to do before we leave,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Went and checked. The Box is gone.

I want to shake Langon until the teeth fall out of his skull,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Utumno received us with a warm welcome. Half of the halls were on fire when we arrived. Apparently it was not a case of malicious arson—merely an enthusiastic attempt at pyrotechnics gone wrong. The resulting chaos was short-lived, but by the time the flames were extinguished (four immolated, sixteen wounded), Melkor had disappeared.

I made inquiries. He was in his chambers, they said, with strict orders not to be disturbed.

Of course I was disappointed. In my head I’d been set on picking up where we left off as soon as we reached the fortress. I had assumed he felt the same way, given his long stares and easy promises. It hurt, just a little, to realize he had not shared in my anticipation.

But he had granted me ample space and time whenever I needed it. Surely I could return the favor.

So I retired to my room, still weary and dirty and damp from the journey, and received an unpleasant surprise. Between the madness of Langon’s plan and a certain distracting encounter with Melkor, I had completely forgotten my earlier tantrum.

My chambers are still in ruins. Nearly everything is broken or burned. I should have started cleaning by now, but the prospect seems both dismal and exhausting. I don't know where to begin.

At least the cat was waiting for me, curled up on a torn pillow. She stretched and showed me her needle-like claws, then allowed me to scratch her head. I missed her silky fur dearly. For a while I sat with her, staring blankly at the shredded tapestries until I made up my mind.

I just can’t stay away. I never could. Ever since we met, we’ve been orbiting each other in circles that keep getting smaller and tighter. I’ve been trying to avoid this inevitable collision, narrowly escaping the moment of impact, but each revolution brings me back around to him. Only him. I know of no other destination.

After a brief dip into the lava pool, I emerged feeling fresh and new and slightly braver than before. I salvaged a clean vermilion robe from the wreckage. It’s soft and warm and embroidered with gold thread. It makes me feel like myself again.

Just checked my reflection in a shard from the broken mirror. My hair is wild, and none of my surviving jewelry seems suitable. I don't even have a clean pair of shoes. So I suppose I will go to him plain and barefoot, hoping that whatever I am is enough.

Steady as she goes,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Just before I left, I dug through the ashes of my bed and found the dagger I had been keeping under my pillow. It fit neatly into my sleeve. I found it comforting to have the cool, smooth metal pressed against my forearm, regardless of how useless it would be against Melkor. I wasn’t planning to stab him or anything, but it felt nice to pretend that I could if I wanted to.

Distant hoots and screams told me the soldiers were still celebrating. I steered clear of them. My tread was quiet and unhurried, although my instincts urged me to run. My heart hammered against my ribs as I padded silently down staircases and through galleries to reach the black and white door. The halls of Utumno passed in a blur of dim archways and guttering torches, both familiar and removed. I felt like a ghost.

Thuringwethil was waiting for me. Or perhaps she was merely keeping the skeletons company. She sat against the wall of the antechamber, surrounded by piles of yellowing bones, poised and watchful. The door beyond her, with its agonized faces of marble and obsidian, oozed a creeping sense of terror that curled in my gut and warned me to get out. I ignored it.

“Welcome back,” she said.

“Thanks.” I gestured past her. “Does he know you're here?”

“No.” She glanced up at me. “Does he know you’re here?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Ah.”

“I want to talk to him,” I said, flushing with sudden guilt, “about you, of course, and some other things as well.”

“You will not offend me by confessing you forgot.”

“I forgot, Thuri. I’m sorry.” There was an awkward gap in which I searched for excuses and found none. “When I’m close to him, it's like I can't think about anything else. He’s just too —”

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I have eyes, Mairon.” She stood up, straight and rigid under the folds of her midnight cloak. “I’ve seen him too.”

“Oh.”

Her mouth curved into a small, dry smile. “What else could keep me here?”

I could only stutter as she drifted away. The scent of pine trailed behind her. As she passed my left shoulder, she whispered, “Don’t knock.”

I hovered on the threshold, staring at the writhing carvings as my stomach churned. The door knocker taunted me from the jaws of a stony lion. I nearly reached for it. For one terrible moment, I feared Thuri was luring me into a trap and hoping Melkor would destroy me for the imposition. Then I realized it didn't matter. One way or another, I was getting in.

I pressed my palm flat against the pearly scales of a marble serpent. The door glided open effortlessly. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The heavy smell of smoke and something deep and earthy filled the room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were made of a lightless black material, neither stone nor metal, so dark that my eyes could not perceive it. Everything within appeared to float over an endless abyss. There was a fireplace, an armchair, and a vast, curtained bed. Most unexpected of all were the massive squares of fabric hanging on the walls. They bore no designs or illustrations, merely solid fields of color—some bright gold, others red, and the rest a warm, deep violet.

Melkor reclined in the armchair, facing the crackling fire. His robe spilled over the edges and pooled at his feet, melting into the invisible floor. His voice was slow and remote. “Mairon?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the door.”

I obeyed. Only afterward, when the rest of the world was sealed away, did I realize how small his room actually was. It looked infinite, but the close, flat echoes told me it was smaller than my own chambers.

“I may have given you the wrong impression,” Melkor said, laboring over each word. There was no trace left in him of the shining triumph he’d shown at the feast. He sounded tired. My heart sank. “Never invite yourself through my door.” His head bent forward, shadowing his face. “I will not warn you again.”

I cursed Thuri silently. “I understand,” I said, “but —”

“If you understand, then spare me your whinging.”

I stopped myself from snapping out my first thought, or muttering my second one. At last, I managed to say in a civilized tone, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

He coughed. The room rumbled and shook, powdering my shoulders with dust. “Shall I write you a list?”

“I thought,” I said, floundering. “I mean, I was wondering … ”

“Spit it out.”

It was all wrong. I could tell immediately. There was something noxious and bitter bubbling up in him, and everything I said or did would only make it worse. It felt horribly unfair, but that was irrelevant. My choice was the same.

“I still want you,” I said quietly, “if you’ll have me.”

“Ah,” he sighed. “Then I suppose I win again.”

Even in my nightmares, I never could have predicted such a callous dismissal. My hands clenched. I imagined plunging the dagger into his heart and finding it black and hollow.

But his posture was slumped and wretched, and he refused to meet my eyes. I had never pursued him successfully before; never found him unless he wanted to be found; never surprised him. This side of him was a stranger to me.

And he looked pitiful.

“What exactly did you win?” I asked tightly.

“You, Mairon. You were the prize. You gave in. You surrendered. You believed me.” He shrugged. The fire spat. “Thus, my victory.” He didn’t sound pleased.

“I’m confused.” I masked my anger as much as I could, since he was clearly trying to provoke me. Only a thin wire of resentment wound its way into my voice. “I thought you wanted this.”

“Of course I did. It was my design which led you to me. You would not be here unless I wanted it.”

“Then what are you whining about?”

“You fell for it, Mairon!” I couldn’t tell if he was admonishing me or gloating. “Like they all do. I am undeniable. For all your stubborn pride, you could not resist me forever. If I bent the whole of my being upon any deception, any goal, even Manwë would be fooled eventually. Did you really think you stood a chance?”

There was a raw, desperate edge to his voice that I’d never heard before. And though I’d once feared such words from him above all else, they passed through me now like a fine mist. “What’s your point?”

He was still facing the fire, but I could see his jaw tighten. “I made the same promises to every Maia who serves me,” he muttered. “Flattered and consoled them. Chased them and let them go.” His fingers fluttered briefly in the air. “It was too easy. Even now, as I tell you what I am, what I did to you, you are only drawn further and further in. See how cleverly the trap closes? If I took you now and pulled you into my arms, you would never resist me again. And yet if I commanded you to leave, you would find yourself even more enthralled.” He was breathing heavily. “Everything I do brings you closer to me.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” His fist came down on the chair. The wood splintered. “Even if you ran,” he growled, “you would never be free of me.”

Once again, I felt the shiver of an old terror pass through me, a mere ripple on a sea of tranquility. Despite myself, I almost smiled. “So what?”

“Have you truly forgotten what you used to be before my claws were in you?”

“I used to be miserable,” I said. “I think I prefer you. Even like this.”

“I preyed upon your misery,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. The smoke wreathed him. “You only fell because I pushed you.”

I laughed. The fire roared. Amber sparks landed on Melkor’s robe like dying stars and winked out just as swiftly. “Sure. So what’s your excuse?”

“What?”

“Why did you fall for me?” I inquired. “All I ever did was tell you to fuck off.”

He stiffened. The temperature dropped. The floor felt like ice against the soles of my feet. “You forget yourself.”

“Remind me, then. Or should I go by ‘Mairon of Aulë’ again?”

What followed was a true earthquake, starting as a low rumble underneath us and billowing up through the walls as it grew in power and fury. My vision blurred. The logs in the fireplace trembled and collapsed. And Melkor laughed, cold and hard and mirthless. “Too late for that.”

“Good,” I gasped, bracing myself against a bedpost. “Because I don’t want him. I want you. I don't care if you tricked me into it. I don’t care if you think I'm stupid, or weak, or crazy. I don’t give a shit. All I want is you.”

The trembling subsided. Melkor rested his chin on his hands and contemplated the brightness dancing in the hearth. He seemed ancient, then, rooted in place by the weight of time. When he finally turned to look at me, his eyes were black holes, drinking in the light and giving nothing back.

“Say it again.”

My mouth went dry. “I want you.”

“Again.”

“Only you.”

“Only me,” he echoed, leaning back. The firelight made monstrous shadows flicker across his face. “And do you know what I want from you, flame?”

I blushed. I couldn't help it. His eyes were devouring me. “No,” I said faintly.

“Good. Neither do I.” He let the seconds trickle by, studying me carefully. I didn't move. “On the one hand,” he mused, “I could annihilate you.” My pulse skipped. “Don’t look so surprised. You are the most beautiful light in Eä, finer and more delicate than the stars, bolder than fire. All my joy in this world comes from beauty.” His lips curled. “And I desire only to ruin it. At my touch, it withers and rots delectably. Flesh decays, color fades, bright metal crumbles. Since I first saw you, Mairon, most admirable flame of the Ainur, I have craved nothing more than your suffering—swiftly, in bloodshed, and slowly, from within, watching you warp and bend to suit my will until your fire is snuffed out.” His hand twitched on the arm of his chair. “And still I wonder ceaselessly how sweet such pain might taste. When we are apart I think of little else. In this very room, I frequently convince myself to paint your face with agony, no matter what follows. You interrupted me in the middle of one such reverie. That was unwise.”

He paused. Red light flickered in his shining black eyes. Everything he said sounded entirely reasonable and fair to me. I could attribute my unnatural serenity to denial, temporary insanity, or the hypnotic effect of his deep voice, but regardless, I was certain the illusion would shatter if I moved. So I held still and bit my tongue.

“On the other hand,” Melkor said suddenly, “you have become so precious to me that I would rather see my own strength broken than your beauty marred, and bleed for you ere you bled for me. If you did not remain exactly as you are—reckless and defiant in deed, cunning and precise in art, passionate and dreadful in anger, petulant and foolish in love—then I would surely feel no happiness again, not for all the ages to come.”

As he spoke, a heavy, blissful warmth flooded through my body, like wading into a sea of magma. I hugged my arms around my chest, hoarding my joy.

Then his smile slid away. “If I could have both,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “If … ”

My voice cracked. “Not in this world.”

“No.” He stood up. I took a step back, but his gaze was tender. “I want you as you are, Mairon, not as I would make you. But when I touch you … ” Something cruel and wild shadowed his expression. He covered his face. “I cannot separate them. I destroy whatever I lay hands upon. In my nature, corruption and desire are the same.” When he raised his eyes to me again, they were pleading. Light glistened and pooled in their black depths. “So I will admire you from afar.”

“Bite me.”

“Mairon —”

“I don't need you to corrupt me,” I spat, “you grandiose, selfish prick. I corrupted myself. I chose to come here. What good, obedient, perfect Maia would willingly serve the Enemy?” I drew myself up, letting a pillar of fire climb from my heels to the crown of my head. “Melkor, Dark Lord of Arda, True King of the Ainur, please get over yourself and admit it. You’re crazy about me.”

He frowned. “Be that as it may —”

“Shut up.”

“— my tapestries are burning.”

“Oh.”

In my ire, I had accidentally ignited a few of the many squares hanging on the walls. Charred indigo and yellow fabric curled and flaked in wavering orange lines, chewed away by fire.

“Sorry,” I said. “Were those … important?”

“They were Manwë’s,” Melkor said after a moment. “I stole them from his chambers on Almaren, long ago, before I was barred from the isle. They once bore visions of many wondrous things.”

They were blank and colorful voids. I swallowed, wondering if Melkor had intentionally purged their designs, or if they had merely faded after centuries in his presence. Wondering if it mattered.

“You know,” I said casually, “you were right.”

He raised a thick brow. “Concerning … ”

“I never had a choice. As soon as I saw you, I was doomed.” I cleared my throat. “And so were you. If you didn't want me, you should have annihilated me when you had the chance. Now you're stuck with me. And I'm not leaving.”

“I do want you,” he murmured. “Never doubt that.”

“Good,” I said, nearly choking with relief. “Good. Because I’m getting tired of you disappearing for a year or two every time something goes wrong.”

His black eyelashes closed. “My mood is often foul,” he said, “and I would not subject to you to —”

“I don’t care. Sulk for an age if you feel like it. Just don’t leave me alone.” I took a deep breath. “It isn’t fair.”

“You have locked me out as well, Mairon.”

“I know.” It felt like ancient history. “So let’s agree. No more locks.” I was sweating. “No lies.” Images of Melkor smiling, whispering, touching other Maiar flashed through my mind. I shoved them away. He was right there in front of me, proud and dark and steady. “No one else. Just us.”

“Then what will I be to you?” he asked, rolling his shoulders back. “For I would not, I think, make a suitable husband.”

I couldn't tell if he was joking. My throat seized up. “My lord,” I rasped. “I need nothing else.”

“And what are you to me? My humble servant?”

“Whatever you want me to be.”

He chuckled in disbelief. “Even knowing what I am, you would deliver yourself to me?”

“I already have.” Admitting it was the easiest thing in the world.

“That was very foolish of you.”

“I’m still not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

He was upon me so quickly that I barely had time to draw the blade. He hissed between his teeth and grabbed my wrist, twisting it back until my shoulder twinged in pain. “Ah! So you do bite. Were you planning to stab me, Mairon?”

“Not exactly,” I panted. He was very close. “Melkor, that hurts.”

“And if I push a little harder?”

I moaned. The dagger fell to the floor with a clang. “Please … ”

His hot breath tickled the back of my neck. His fingers dug in painfully. I could feel the bruises forming. “Try again, flame.”

“Please, my lord … ”

“Would you like me to stop?”

I could have lied.

But I didn’t.

It has been very difficult to write all this down, given that my left arm is currently pinned under his chest. I could try to escape, but I don’t want to wake him accidentally. He looks too content, wrapped in black silk and warmed by rosy firelight. His cheeks are slack, his brow smooth, and his mouth hangs slightly open. I am tempted to draw something obscene on his face as soon as I finish this entry.

I can’t feel my fingers, and I think I have a nosebleed, but that’s fine. Everything is fine.

If this is a mistake, it’s the best one I ever made,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I spent an age sprawled in that vast black bed, draped in soft blankets and cool sheets. A low music thrummed under me, slow and formless, and though I knew it was the discord I still found bittersweet harmonies swirling within it. I never realized there were so many patterns in chaos. I listened until I could pick minor notes from the chords, matching them to the inhales and exhales of the dark lord beside me. His very breath was a melody.

I also drew a foul word on his forehead. His eyes snapped open just as I finished it, and he grabbed my retreating hand.

“Ow,” I said.

“What,” he groaned, blinking, “possessed you?”

“I was bored. You slept for most of the year.”

Melkor sat up, rubbing his face. He seemed so much more ruffled and real than he ever had before. The way his black locks curled in the creases of his pillow, the faint sourness of his breath, the marked imprint of fabric against his cheek—his body was so tangible, so close. I wanted to run my fingers through his hair and see if it felt as silky as it looked. Only a bashful uncertainty held me back. I was never completely sure where I stood with him.

“You stayed,” he observed after a brief silence.

I dipped my head. “I trashed my room a few years back. There isn’t much left of it.” Even as the weak justification left my lips, I wondered why I bothered. I stayed because I loved being there, curled up beside him, crushed arm and all. And because my feet were warm under the covers, and I was loath to set them back on the cold floor.

“Shall I have it repaired?”

I shrugged. “No rush.”

He nodded and spun the bracelet on his wrist. The sight of it filled my heart to the brim. “Are you … well?”

“Tender. Bruised in places. I think one of my ribs is cracked.”

He didn’t look guilty. If anything, he almost cracked a smile. “Anything else?”

“I’m starving.”

I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I’d known he was going to leave. But he climbed out of bed without a word, pulled a robe over his head, and padded out the door.

Then I was alone in his chambers, feeling peculiar and pampered and lost. There was so much of him still floating in the air. The bed bore a warm, sunken impression of his sleeping form. On impulse, I rolled into it. It smelled like him. I closed my eyes.

I have not yet reached the plateau where my affection ceases to grow. Already, I need him more than I did before. Perhaps I always will. Perhaps it never ends.

But I’m not afraid,
Mairon

Chapter Text

When Melkor returned, I was still lazing in bed, scribbling a few doodles in the margins of this diary and trying to figure out where the draft was coming from. Even though the door made a perfect seal with the floor, a thin line of cold air was still blowing in from somewhere, carrying an ashen, metallic smell. It rolled over my bare shoulders and made me shiver.

Melkor entered quietly, carrying a wooden tray stacked with honey cakes and strips of dry, smoked meat. I had to smile at the sight of him, still rumpled and unpolished, holding such an incongruously innocent spread. He set it on the floor beside the bed and looked down at me. His eyes were formless shadows. There was something predatory in his stance—feet planted wide, hands floating at his sides. His forehead had been wiped clean, with only an indecipherable smear of ink lingering over his right eyebrow. A chill slithered down my spine.

“Did you think,” he asked softly, “little Maia, that you could toy with me?”

“What do you —”

He pounced. I screamed. It was a short and undignified battle that ended with my stomach pressed into the sheets, pinned under the weight of him as I panted and swore and wriggled in vain.

“This is my domain,” he said. “My home. And you would make a fool of me here, within these walls, while you still lie in my power? You are clever indeed, Mairon. Far too clever for your own good. Do you know how many of my servants witnessed your little jest?”

“No,” I huffed into a pillow. I couldn't tell how much of his anger was feigned. Most of it, I hoped.

“Don’t move.”

The weight on my back was suddenly gone. I went limp, listening to the soft, smooth rustling of his robes. The exposed skin of my neck prickled at the sound. I tried to turn my head and watch him, but he growled low in his throat as soon as I twitched. I froze with my face still buried in the bed. All I could see was a matte black pillowcase and the fiery tresses of my hair spilling over it, ribboning like streams of lava through basalt. My whole body buzzed with an excitement that refused to turn sour, despite the unmistakable danger in his voice, his hands, and his ragged breath. My pulse spiked frantically as his weight shook the bed. He knelt on top of me, straddling my waist. His exhale prickled at the back of my neck.

“If you hold still,” he murmured, “it will hurt less.”

Before I could question that dubious advice, I felt the pinprick of pain between my shoulder blades. It started as a tolerable pinch, but as it dug in, I started to sweat. “Melkor —”

“Shh-h-h.” His other hand settled at the base of my scalp, pushing my hair up and back. It was soothing to feel his cool fingers move gently over my skull. Less soothing was the burning line that erupted along my spine, dragged by the tip of a blade in a whorl that brought tears to my eyes. “Though I do love the sound of my name in your mouth. Especially like this. Pleading. Such a rare delicacy.”

I gritted my teeth. He flicked his hand casually, and my skin parted along a thin line tracing the back of my ribcage. It took all my willpower to turn my shriek into a gasp.

“Relax, Mairon,” he said. “I still have a long way to go. Or are you finished already?”

The challenge in his words made me tense up. The blade paused, needling into my back. “No,” I said. “By all means, ah, continue.”

And he did, etching another burning thread into my flesh. And another. As he continued, I could not hold my tears, but I took some satisfaction in how silently they ran down my hot cheeks. The pain he gave me was a better gift than finery or flattery from any other hand. It would have destroyed me if it came from anyone but him.

“You heal quickly.”

“No thanks to you.”

He laughed. I flinched, but the blade didn’t bite any deeper. He held it perfectly still. “I like it,” he purred. “But this one will scar.”

“Brute.”

“Ah, Mairon. Are you looking for pity? But you brought this upon yourself.”

“I don’t —” My breath hitched. “— don’t recall anything I did that would warrant such a—a punishment.”

“Not punishment. Payment.”

“For … ”

“Inviting yourself into my bed. Being, as you are, so fast to transgress and so slow to apologize. Marking me.” His next line was a horizontal slash from my left flank to my right. I did cry out, then, from surprise as much as anything else. “And the way your proud voice warbles, and your bright blood wells, and your body trembles ever so sweetly when you are in pain … Well, all those qualities will cost you dearly.”

I could feel the blood running down my skin. White sparks flashed in my eyes as I bit my lip too hard. “Are you done?”

“Not quite.” He was smiling at me. I could tell. “This is the price you pay for staying. Many would find it too steep.”

“I’m afraid you can't get rid of me that—that easily.” If he heard my whimper, he didn't show it. “My lord.”

“As you say.”

With one last twist of the blade, he let me go. As I pushed myself up onto my elbows, trembling, I felt a cool cotton cloth plaster itself across the burning lines of my back. It made my heart jump again, so quick and foolish that I almost snickered at myself. I felt drunk with how much I craved his attention, his touch.

“What did you write?” I whispered.

He didn’t tell me. The bastard. But he did hand me a honey cake as I stared into the fire, aching and sentimental, all too aware of his eyes watching me appraisingly, and his fingers combing through my hair, and his lips occasionally rising to my ear, my cheek, my forehead.

It’s so much better than I thought it would be,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The next time I woke up in that bed, the enchantment had faded. It felt like floating in a rowboat down a lazy river banked by willows, lying back under their trailing branches for a short nap, only to suddenly find myself drifting through an endless sea under a black sky. I had no anchor and no rudder. My fate was entirely in Melkor’s hands, and he was as vast and unpredictable and careless as any storm. And I had given myself to him entirely. The Enemy. Doom and despair.

My very lack of fear terrified me, but it was vertigo that finally brought me careening out from under the covers. I felt like my body was falling—not sinking down into the depths, but gliding up inexorably toward the hollow spaces between the stars.

My back burned as soon as I stood up, stretching the skin around my wounds. They were feverishly hot. A wave of panic rose under me. Perhaps I had stumbled into something even worse than I'd imagined. Perhaps it was a spell, a curse on my body, or some other stain I could never remove, even if I abandoned my fana. Perhaps I was bound to him forever.

And he wasn't even there. His side of the bed was empty. I felt a twinge of annoyance.

“Melkor?” I said, my voice brittle and thin. I used to think his presence made me foggy and silly and stupid, but now I wonder if I had it wrong this whole time. Maybe I can only see things clearly when I'm with him.

“Here, Mairon,” he said from nowhere. “Follow my voice.”

It sounded like he was inside the wall. Any reasonable person would have balked at such an impossible order. Not me, though. Despite my misgivings, I walked on.

It would have served me right if I came away with a broken nose and a few more bruises. Instead, as soon as I stepped into the dark and seemingly solid surface, I felt a cold substance rise like water through my nostrils, pouring between my fingers and my toes before passing through me and leaving me dry and whole.

It was another little chamber, just as lightless and cozy as the first. More squares of scarlet and indigo and gold hung on the walls. A heavy oaken desk stood in the center of the room, piled with loose papers. Melkor sat hunched over the desk, writing on a scrap of parchment. He wore a long dressing gown that spilled over his shoulders and left the long, pale lines of his limbs exposed. I rubbed the back of my neck and felt another burst of itching, stinging pain, accompanied by the distracting urge to stalk over and sit on his lap.

I didn't do that. Instead, I asked, “What the hell did you carve into my back?”

He smirked without looking up. “See for yourself.” With a wave of his hand, a piece of the black wall shifted into gleaming silver.

I stepped up to it and turned around, tilting my head so I could see my reflection glancing back at me. And just under my sharp, quivering chin was a bloody word, starting at the base of my neck and proceeding down my spine in bold, flowing lines.

Melkor.

“You wrote your fucking name?”

“Indeed.”

My cheeks flushed a humiliating shade of pink. Outraged, I asked, “Is it magic?”

“Of course not.” The nib of his quill scratched over the paper. “Only a reminder that you belong to me.”

As if I needed another reminder. My mouth opened and closed. My eyes glittered. At last, I gave up the battle within and allowed myself to feel as crushingly flattered as I had when he told me he wanted to ruin me.

But none of this was right. It wasn't right to swoon when Melkor cut his name into me. It was even worse to lay with him, knowing what he was. Knowing he would hurt me and letting him do it anyway. Enjoying it, in some twisted way, because I could take whatever he gave me without breaking. And quietly suspecting that any resistance I did offer would not matter much to him. Not after I came here and delivered myself into his hands.

It was abhorrent. I couldn't stop myself from enjoying it.

I cleared my throat. “When you stole the song from my diary,” I said, voicing a fear that ran so deep I could barely admit it, “did you use it to … change me?”

Melkor didn't laugh or deny it vehemently, both of which would have further unsettled me. Instead, he set the quill down and turned to face me.

“I would be lying if I said I had never considered it,” he said gravely. “It often seemed the easier way, but never the better one. Meddling with your song is the most crude and blatant form of manipulation. If I tried it, you would surely know.” He whistled five familiar notes that stole the breath from my lungs. “You see? I prefer subtler methods.”

“Such as?”

“For you?” He leaned back, weaving his hands together behind his head. His tone became more mocking as he went. “Needling praise. Arguments that prove your cleverness and satisfy your temper. Practical advice for your ridiculous problems. Disappearing occasionally so that you can discover how much you’ve come to rely on me. Listening to you vent about my brother and his unique flavor of idiocy. Soothing your wounded pride every time you come stumbling back to me. Assuring you that I am not the monster you take me for.”

“But you are.”

His teeth were sharp. “Oh, no. I am much worse.”

His admissions brought me a strange sense of comfort, no matter how familiar and awful they were. I always knew how the game would end, but it was still hard to swallow defeat. This particular loss was thick and bittersweet. I’d given up myself and gained a master. Once I would have wept at the thought of such a trade.

But what a master! I had to hold him as carefully as a naked blade or else bleed myself dry in the ecstasy of touching him. I relished that challenge more than any other. It had to be me. No one else could have handled him and lived.

Or so I told myself.

I perched on the edge of his desk, letting my feet dangle. He watched me through narrowed eyes. “How many rooms do you have back here?” I asked, flipping my hand to encompass the void which surrounded us.

“As many as I need.”

“And are they always here, or do you call them into existence when you need them?”

“Both. Neither.” He shrugged in a way that told me he’d never thought about it.

“So you don’t know.”

“You are the first to ask.” He paused, anticipating my next question. “You are the first to see these chambers. I built them and I dwell in them. Alone.”

“Is that a dismissal?”

“Only if you take it as one.”

I ran my hand over the desk, tracing whorls in the grain. One of them looked like a screaming face. I stoked the fire in my fingertip and charred two angry eyebrows into the oak. “So, the other Maiar you mentioned,” I said lightly, “the ones you chased and flattered, they never came here?”

The dead silence which followed was a knife in my gut. I couldn't look at him. I was afraid I might read the answer on his face.

“Are you jealous, little flame?”

“I’m curious.”

“I made them many promises,” he said softly, “and broke all of them. They are bound to me as tools and weapons, not concubines. You would share in their fate if you were not … everything that you are. Do not envy them, Mairon. Or did you imagine I took Gothmog into my bed?”

The wood of the desktop cracked under my fingertips. I hadn't even realized I was gripping it. A few gears clicked into place in my head. I examined myself for any trace of sympathy and found only a vile sense of superiority. “No.”

He nodded and went back to writing. The creases on his brow deepened as his quill glided over the parchment.

“You look troubled, my lord,” I said after a while, wondering how far I could push him.

“As entertaining as you are, Mairon, in both mind and body,” he muttered, “I cannot lie idle with you forever. I must return to the work.”

“What work?”

“The great work. The destruction of Arda and the dimming of the stars.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling slighted. But he kept writing. I tried to glance over his shoulder and read it, but the words didn’t make any sense. “What are you writing?”

“Entropy.”

It was nonsense. I shivered, looking at the finished pages piling up on the margins of his desk. I imagined them drifting through the wind like seeds, planting chaos wherever they landed.

I didn’t hate Arda. Despite the madness on the surface, there was a beautiful scaffold of order built into the bones of the earth. I had constructed some of it myself. I could feel it every time I went into the ground, or saw a clear gem, or touched metal. Even decayed and mangled as they were by time and chance, the foundations of the world were still good. Once, I might have tried to fix them.

“I’ll help you,” I said, “if I can.”

“Will you?” His quill halted on the paper, dripping ink. “It is the highest form of blasphemy,” he informed me, “to tear down the world that Eru created. He will ensure that you suffer for it. He will torment you as he has tormented me.”

“After we finish wrecking Arda, we can ditch him too.”

Melkor’s mouth twitched. “And then what?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” I said breathily, “which I’m sure you could improve upon, my lord.” I was laying it on a bit thick—my ideas were typically perfect—but he seemed to need the encouragement.

“Good.” Melkor gazed at me appraisingly. “Then I have changed your tune after all. The wounded Maia I once kept in a watchtower would not, I think, have pledged his service to any master willingly.” His voice thrummed with smug satisfaction. “Certainly not one such as myself, who offered him only a surfeit of pain and an impossible war.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe if you tried asking him nicely.”

“I did. Many times. It never worked as well as this.” Melkor leaned in, wrapping his hand around my neck. I fell forward, caught by the sudden speed and strength with which he pulled me back to him. His lips crushed mine. The ice in my heart melted and ran as fire through my veins.

He did not get much work done after that,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Just held court with Melkor. I was far more nervous than I’d care to admit. It was the first time I'd left his chambers in three years.

Ever since I opened his door, I had been living outside of time, lounging in that deep place where nothing ever changes. Each hour was as seamless and perfect as the last. I felt golden with warmth, spilling light like a star through his dark rooms. I almost wished I could stay forever.

But when Melkor invited me to stand beside him as he returned to the throne, I could hardly refuse. At my insistence, he sent a servant to fetch the appropriate accoutrements from my old room—earrings with dangling cat’s eye cabochons, black and red opal rings, cuffs on both wrists, and dozens of gold necklaces which swayed and clinked every time I moved. I wove my hair into long red braids and scoured myself clean until I felt worthy of a king.

I was mildly disappointed to see Melkor’s preparations amounted to nothing more than throwing on a crown. It was certainly an impressive crown, wrought of cruel black iron and twisted into five jagged points, but it hardly seemed sufficient. He didn't even comb the snarls in his hair. I will have to bring it up with him later.

The throne room was hot, smoky, and already packed to the brim when we arrived. Melkor settled into the obsidian seat, sprawling out comfortably while I hovered at his side. I was immediately put off by the familiar stench of Utumno, the cacophony of voices, and the leering faces of the crowd along the edges of the dais. I vividly remembered yelling at Melkor on this very spot, telling him that I wasn't his prize or his puppet. Now I felt a bit like both. I shifted from one foot to the other, listening to the gold chains clinking and the sound of my name circulating in whispers. As I watched, lips curled and heads turned. The tips of my ears burned.

The rumors and insinuations had been obnoxious enough, even before they were true. I had no idea what I would say the next time someone accused me of whoring myself out to Melkor. Anyone with eyes could see why I was here now.

Melkor raised a finger. The noise died. Then, one by one, his subjects approached the throne.

I forced myself to stand still and put on a haughty, remote expression as they bowed and scraped. They had complaints, suggestions, and quarrels to settle. Melkor gave them a final answer and sent them scurrying away. His face was so different when we were alone, rising easily into a smile or a scowl. In the throne room, I watched his expression settle into stone, cold and humorless. He was made even taller and more unforgiving by the crown. I drew back, wondering if I could slip out without being noticed.

Then a flailing gray-haired Maia fell before the throne, shoved by a guard in black armor. “He says he has nothing to tithe, my lord,” the guard sneered. “But I think he’s hiding it.”

I recognized the gray-haired Maia. I’d seen him sneak out of Langon’s camp several times while I was on sentry duty in Almaren. He always came back sagging under the weight of his loot: gilded instruments, or caskets of mulled wine, or baskets of silver and gold.

Without thinking, I leaned over and whispered into Melkor’s ear, “He’s lying.”

Cold, quiet tension spread over the room. Then Melkor flicked his fingers and said, “Execute him.”

I froze. It was more severe than any punishment he'd meted out so far. As the guard dragged the wailing Maia away, every eye in the throne room snapped back to me. And this time, under their contempt and scorn, a wave of fear rippled away from me. I relished in it, straightening my back and inviting the reassuring burn of the letters across my spine. I didn’t even flinch from the abrupt scream that echoed off the walls.

After that, I started to whisper more often, speaking up whenever I felt like it. Melkor’s judgment did not always agree with my words, but no one else knew that. The derision in the crowd was replaced by wariness and doubt. A delightful fire crackled to life in my belly.

Then Thuri stepped onto the dais and knelt before the throne. Her robe fell in black folds around her. “My lords,” she said, and the murmurs behind her spread like wildfire. She was speaking to both of us. “I am Thuringwethil. I asked you once before, and now I ask again. Let me join you and serve you in all things. It is my chief desire.”

Melkor stiffened. Before I could intervene, he snapped, “No Maia of Varda may serve me —”

“— so I suppose you must serve me instead,” I said, cutting him off neatly, “if that is amenable to you.”

She nodded. “It is.”

Melkor stared between us as if we’d arranged the whole thing ahead of time. I could feel his jaw clench. His eyes were shards of black ice. “Very well,” he ground out. “The court is dismissed.” He rose up and stalked from the room.

I could have followed him, but I didn't want to abandon Thuri. I waited as she climbed back to her feet.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“Eternity is longer.” Her gaze flickered away. “Will you go after him?”

My heart said yes, but I hesitated. “I’ll give him some time to get over it.”

“Wise.”

It’s been hours, but the storm has not abated yet. I'll wait for a break in the clouds before I confront him, but I'm not too worried about it.

I know he can't stay mad at me,
Mairon

Chapter Text

The echoes of thunder from the world above suggest that Melkor is still pissed. Whatever. I’m too stubborn to beg for forgiveness now. If he didn't want me speaking up, he shouldn't have put me next to the throne.

The other benefits of my new position have already begun to manifest. After her promotion, Thuri requested a room of her own, close to the sky and open to the wind. We found a suitable chamber carved high in the Iron Mountains, its wide window overlooking sheer cliffs and chasms of blue shadow. It was already occupied when we arrived, but the grotesque demon within surrendered the place without a fight and bowed to me on his way out. It felt good. Though I knew I was only borrowing power from Melkor—and paying dearly for the privilege—I found it so delightfully convenient to have my orders obeyed without question. I wonder if this is how he feels all the time.

After that, Thuri and I went down into the guts of Utumno to drink and celebrate. When the Maia behind the counter tried to pour cruor into our cups, Thuri covered hers and said curtly, “You will serve Mairon the Admirable just as you would serve Melkor.”

He snorted and scoffed, but at last handed over a bottle of mead from Almaren. It tasted like the meadows of Yavanna. Thuri and I passed it back and forth across a rickety table, watching idly as a colossal worm burrowed through the walls and devoured three unfortunate soldiers whole. Their wails and cries nearly put me off my drink.

“How is it?” Thuri asked.

I could tell from her tone that she wasn't talking about the mead. “Hard to say. He’s just as arrogant, capricious, and selfish as I am, so I suppose we’re perfect for each other.”

“Are you happy?”

“Dreadfully.” I licked a drop off my thumb. “More than I've ever been before. I’m still not totally convinced that this isn't some dream or joke or misunderstanding.”

“And?”

The words came slowly. “There are no half measures with him,” I muttered. “That’s why I like him. Sometimes it feels like everything I do ends up twisted or incomplete. But he always gets what he wants.” I tossed the empty bottle across the room, hoping it would break, but it only bounced and rolled over the floor. “And I’m still not sure what he wants from me.”

“A dangerous position.”

“I know. I just can’t bring myself to care. He’s too —” I spread my arms, trying to encompass everything that drew me to Melkor, and came up woefully short. “Whatever he does is fine by me,” I said, “as long as he's the one doing it. He could kill me and I think I would enjoy it. Does that make me crazy?”

She looked down. “No more than any of us.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“Why are you here, Thuri?”

“I told you. For him.” The certainty in her voice almost concealed the bleakness behind her words.

“That still doesn't explain how a Maia of Varda wound up in Utumno.” I pictured the path that had taken me from Almaren to Melkor’s door. He had led me there patiently, step by step, but Thuri had walked the whole way alone. I couldn't imagine it.

There was a long silence. Then she straightened her back and said proudly, “I was a star.” Her eyes found mine—black irises ringed with white. Her hands folded neatly into her lap, sharp and pale and cold. “Arda was a painting below me. Green, blue, and gold. Then Melkor came.”

I could almost fill in the rest myself.

“He was red on black. I watched the fire and the smoke. He sang as he painted death over Eä. He was beautiful enough to hurt me. I had never felt pain before. So I fell.” She shrugged. “I was the first star to fall. Varda tried to catch me. She did not succeed. I tore her hand as I went. Her blood was sweet.” She gave me a small, pointed smile. “I could not go back after that. But when I found Melkor, he did not want me. So I learned to wait. That was ages ago. Now I serve him through you, and that is enough. It must be.”

“Thuri,” I said, “I’m so sorry.”

“I abhor your pity,” she said. “I wanted to join him. You made that possible. I am grateful to you, Mairon. My love for him is not diminished by you.”

“But —”

“Do not make me hate you,” she said fiercely.

But I had to say something. I had to justify it. “I don’t know why he picked me.”

The rigid lines of her body trembled, and grief clouded her face. She sagged back for a moment before collecting herself. Her expression turned carefully neutral again. “Neither do I.”

I could imagine sitting in her place all too easily, watching him from a safe distance as he chose someone else. I wanted to tell her that. I knew I would only make it worse.

“I’m not a good friend,” I said, thinking of Eönwë. “I never was. But is there any way I can help?”

“Give me something to do.” Her lips pursed. “Let me prove myself.”

That seemed fair enough to me. I fiddled with my rings and tried to imagine how Thuri might fit into Melkor’s plans. “You’re good at hiding.”

“No one sees me unless I wish to be seen.”

“Could you spy on the Valar?”

“Which one?”

“Aulë,” I said. “Find him and let me know what he’s doing.”

“Very well.” She stood up and placed her hand on my shoulder. Her touch was so light that I barely felt it. “I am happy for you, truly,” she murmured. “Do you believe me?”

“I do,” I said honestly.

“Good.” Her cloak unfurled behind her like a pair of black wings as she left. I stared after her for a long time.

It’s so ironic. Melkor chased Varda and she rebuffed him; a Maia of Varda fell for him and he spurned her. If I were Thuri, I'd be trying to kill me right now. I still don’t understand why Melkor caught me.

But I’m so glad he did,
Mairon

Chapter Text

When I finally returned to Melkor’s chambers, ready to swallow my pride (and more), he was gone.

But the cat was there, splayed across the bed with her paws held daintily toward the fire. She allowed me to sit beside her and scratch her soft belly. I took that as a favorable sign.

“Have you seen him?” I asked, but she only blinked at me.

I had almost fallen asleep by the time he returned. The door slammed open and sent me flying upright. He was muddy, disheveled, and splattered with crimson. He carried a mace which was badly dented and cracked down the haft, broken under the weight of a heavy blow. He threw it to the floor, where it promptly shattered into three pieces. The cat arched and bristled at the noise.

I slid off the bed, giddy with a shivering joy that was nearly indistinguishable from fear. Melkor always has that effect on me. I used to think it would diminish with time, but it just keeps getting stronger. Soon I might start fainting whenever he walks in. “Where were you?”

He glowered. “I suspected you would stay with your precious servant for a while. What was it that drew you away from her?”

“You’re still mad about that?” I crossed my arms. “Seriously? Just because Varda wouldn’t touch you —”

“Watch your tongue.”

“Thuri wants to help you, dumbass,” I groaned, “so I did you a huge favor and gave her a chance. You’ll never rule Arda if you let every stupid grudge slow you down.” And perhaps I was secretly, spitefully glad to pour salt in the wound left by Varda. He deserved a bit of pain for that.

“I already rule Arda,” Melkor said, circling me. “Without your servant’s help. Or your advice.” His breath ghosted across the back of my neck. “But by all means, continue. Interrupt me in front of my court. Tell me how to proceed with my kingdom, since you are so wise in these matters.” When I hesitated, his hands clasped my shoulders, loosely encircling my neck. “Or admit that you are here to serve my foolish infatuation and in all other respects you are useless to me.”

He didn’t mean it—not entirely—but it still stung. I suppose that was the point. I swallowed. “Please tell me, my lord,” I said breathily, spinning to face him, “how I may be of use to you.”

“Are you sure?” He lifted a brow. “It might hurt.”

“Then I suppose I’ll just have to bear it.”

The bastard leaned in until I lowered my eyes, and then he released me abruptly and stepped away. “Follow me.”

I, still dazed, cheeks burning, let him lead me through the wall. After the black veil passed through me, I emerged into a long room lined with mirrors. The floor felt as springy as moss beneath my feet. Various weapons hung from chains embedded in the ceiling. Still dwelling on my recent humiliation, I did not put all these facts together until Melkor tossed me a staff and said, “Hit me.”

“What?” I glanced around. “Why?”

“I cannot place you on a battlefield and trust you to stay alive without my intervention.” His eyes gleamed darkly. “If you spar with me now, perhaps you will be more than a liability in the wars to come.”

I weighed the staff in my hands. It felt clumsy and unbalanced. Melkor watched me hungrily.

I should have walked away. We were both still raw from our little argument, and he was clearly itching for a fight. My throat tightened. “Is this some kind of trick?”

“Hit me as hard as you can,” he said lazily.

He was just standing there.

I raised the staff, took a tentative step forward, and swung it into his shoulder. It was like smacking a block of marble. He didn’t move, but the impact vibrated down the staff and hurt my hands. I let go.

His eyes narrowed. “Now try doing that without dropping your weapon.”

“Very helpful,” I snapped. “Thank you.”

He observed me while I flailed and swung and learned to place my hands so the staff didn't simply jump out of them. He never flinched, not even when I struck his cheek, although that did leave a pale gray mark that took a few minutes to fade.

I was nearly out of breath when he held up his hand and said, “Stop.” I halted, panting. He was frowning. “You are not weak, Mairon, but you never follow through. You stop yourself when you think the blow should end. But it doesn’t end here.” He tapped his skin. “You must let it continue through me. Like so.”

He cuffed me. It felt like getting hit by a boulder rolling down a mountainside. I flew sideways, my feet skidding and scrambling, and came to a stop crumpled against the mirrored wall. My ears were ringing. The whole right side of my face was numb.

“See?” he said, his voice fuzzy and indistinct. He was frozen in place, his hand flung out well past the spot where my head had been. “I follow through.”

“You’re an asshole,” I slurred, climbing to my feet.

He just grinned.

So I grabbed the staff and ran at him. I swung right through him. I imagined his body was a dark mist that offered no resistance. The wood met his ribs with a hearty, satisfying thwack.

He actually winced. “Good. Now we can begin.”

Then it became a game. I tried to make the staff connect while he slid around me, dodging my attacks and nudging me into different positions—angling my foot out with his own, widening my stance with his knee, grasping my wrist to shift my hand down—until I felt my body settle into a balanced, comfortable rhythm. It was fun, I suppose, though it left me sore and sweaty and frustrated.

Finally, I laid a trap. I skewed my left elbow out too far, knowing he would step behind me to correct it. As soon as he moved forward, I put all my weight into the ball of my foot and pivoted as fast as I could. The staff slammed into his outstretched forearm and left a thick, dark welt. Black droplets welled up and ran down his skin. I froze.

“That hurt, Mairon,” he said, sounding more astonished than anything.

“I’m sorry,” I said in a rush. “I thought—you didn’t say—are you all right?”

“I am.” He plucked the staff out of my hands and tossed it away like a stalk of grass. “But I must warn you that my retaliation will be swift and merciless.”

And it was.

Afterward, he showed me another room, small and intimate, with a fall of steaming water running from a crack in the wall. The heat of it was ecstasy on my poor, bruised body. I did not want to leave. When he departed, I sat on the damp floor for a long time and inhaled the hot, sulphuric mist into my lungs. It tasted like everything I love most—fire and earth and him.

Especially him,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Everything was going well until I decided to ruin it. Me and my big mouth.

For years now he has been entirely mine. Every twitch of his lips and crook of his finger is meant for me. His gaze never leaves me for more than a moment. He can't keep his hands off me. It is exactly the kind of dream I would have called impossible until it happened.

But I couldn't stop myself. I kept bringing it up. In his lightless chambers, in his throne room, in his bed. As a joke. Mostly.

He finally cracked in his office, halfway through examining a scroll of Úmaiar and striking out the dead or absent names. I glanced at the list over his shoulder and said, “Grim numbers. You may want to seduce a few more of Aulë’s finest, if you can find the time.”

And I suppose I sounded more bitter than I had any right to be, given my current position. Still. I was only trying to be funny.

He snapped up and fixed me in place with a black glare. “Enough.”

“Did I hit a nerve?”

“You’re coming with me.” He stood up and seized my elbow before I could argue. “Perhaps I am as faithless and fickle as you fear, and you are right to envy every cringing Maia I have ever coaxed into my shadow. You will see for yourself soon enough.”

That was how I wound up in the woods south of Almaren, crouching in a fireplace, surrounded by creeping vines and charred bricks. We had stopped in the middle of an abandoned cottage, small and hideously twee. I hid behind a wall of ivy dangling from the chimney. Melkor stood in front of me, arms crossed, watching a stream trickle through the overgrown garden. The plants slept uneasily under the faint starlight, growing pale roots that strangled the banks on both sides.

Despite my misgivings, I was unbearably curious. And after we waited for a while, a blue Maia came wandering up through the rippling water. He had pearly eyes and the salty marine stench shared by all of Ulmo’s people.

Melkor tensed up like a cat about to pounce. My own spine prickled at the sight of him poised like that. I knew how much damage he could inflict.

Then the Maiar turned and gasped. “You.”

Melkor stepped toward him. As soon as he moved, his terrible aura of anticipation melted away. His shoulders dropped, his head bowed, and he lost the cruel, pointed intent that he'd carried so easily a moment before. I nearly gasped myself at how familiar the transformation was. He looked as humble and plain as he had when he first met me in the watchtower. The bastard.

“Have you considered my proposal?” Melkor asked, stopping on the bank of the stream. His tone was so much softer than usual, like he was handling a piece of thin glass. I bristled at its intimacy.

The Maia hesitated. “I thought you would never come back.” I could hear myself in his voice. I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat. Or my own.

Melkor shrugged carelessly. “A pressing matter kept me away, but I returned as soon as I could.”

The Maia was instantly suspicious. “What matter?”

“A trifle.” Given his shadowed eyes, it was impossible to say for sure, but I could have sworn he winked in my direction. “But you don’t need to worry. I will always be here when you need to find me. I swear.”

The Maia bit his lip. “You lie.”

“I have never lied to you.”

I couldn’t breathe. It was too much. He was as steady as a pillar, gentle and yet inaccessibly remote, the very picture of solemn restraint. His hands clasped together loosely behind his back. The Maiar, feigning reluctance, bent toward him like a flower seeking light. I knew all the tricks. They were exactly the same.

And I, thoroughly disgusted with both Melkor and myself, slipped out of my hiding place and hastened to his side before I could hear any more.

The Maia leapt back, reaching for a curved knife on his belt, but I held up my hands and flashed a smile. “Easy. I’m not your enemy.”

“You’re Mairon,” he said. “Smith of Aulë. I thought —”

Melkor’s hand rested on the side of my neck, his sharp nails digging into my skin. “He is a servant of mine,” he said lightly, betraying no surprise or uncertainty at all. All of his rage was contained in his fingertips. I suppressed a wince.

“A servant?” The Maia sounded dubious.

I forced a fatuous laugh and fluffed a red cloud of my hair over one shoulder. “Indeed. And as you can see, he is a most generous master. His first gift was my freedom, but he did not stop there.” I was, as it so happened, dressed in a gorgeous new robe with golden embroidery, perfectly accented by my geometric onyx earrings. And I knew Ulmo’s Maiar enjoyed their shiny trifles and trinkets nearly as much as I did. I placed a hand possessively on Melkor’s arm, letting the light glint off my rings.

The Maia looked between us. Dismay warred with open yearning on his face. Then Melkor leaned forward, stretching his scarred palm out in invitation. His reflection in the stream was dark and fathomless. The water turned an inky black.

“Ulmo will never grant you what you truly wish for,” he murmured. “Not in exchange for a thousand ages of obedience. So what keeps you in his halls?”

My smile turned into a grimace as the silence stretched out. The Maia’s lips parted. His hand drifted toward Melkor’s. And then his pale eyes met mine.

“I won’t betray him,” he said, staggering back. “Not for anything you offer me. I can see the corruption in everything you touch. If —”

His face turned green and pasty after Melkor snapped his neck. I wish I hadn’t looked. It hurt me physically, like swallowing something sharp and broken.

“Why would you reveal yourself?” Melkor whispered. He still had not let go of me.

I squirmed. “You were losing him. I thought I could help.”

His grip tightened. “Try again.”

I scowled. “Why did you bring me here?”

“For you to ruin my plans, evidently.” His foot thudded contemptuously against the corpse. “I spent a decade on this one. Now his ëala is lost to me forever. And when I tell you he is no more or less valuable to me than any of the Maiar in Utumno, will you believe me? Or will you needle me for twisting and turning them to suit my purposes, imagining that I do not value you above all the rest of them combined? Should I have no servant but you? I think you would find that far worse than our current arrangement.”

And he was himself again. Strange how comforting that was. I still don’t know how much of him I saw through the mask before I fell completely. I’m afraid it might have been everything, because that means I have no excuse at all.

I am so screwed,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It is I, Mairon the Admirable, once again scribbling in these infernal pages. As you must know, I update them for each and every action that I take, inscribing even the most mundane details as quickly as possible so they do not fade from my memory. Naturally, this is my highest priority, along with the vital task of washing and brushing and braiding my hair every time I notice a stray curl, replacing my current rings with marginally different rings in a lengthy and agonizingly opaque process, and sticking my nose into complicated affairs that do not concern me in the slightest.

Of course, given the sensitive nature of this book, I need to keep it hidden from the eyes of all and sundry, particularly the master to whom I have sworn allegiance and surrendered both fana and ëala. I snap the cover shut with an odious smirk every time he draws near, for despite my stated willingness to serve him in all things and the fact that he has already heard my most secret thoughts and desires, I cannot tolerate him glimpsing another word of my precious diary. Therefore, I must be especially careful not to leave it lying on his side of the bed.

Chapter Text

The bastard vandalized my diary. I added a few warnings to the cover and reminded him to keep his hands off my stuff, but he just called me a hypocrite under his breath.

Fuming,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Saw Langon again. Ugh.

Melkor was holding court for the fourth time this year. I suppose Utumno would implode without his frequent interventions. It all seems to boil down to tedious management of blood feuds, supply shortages, and bizarre architectural problems. Apparently one of the eastern wings has a carnivorous floor. Wonder who came up with that idea.

I was perched on the arm of his throne. Beats standing there like an idiot. Was thinking of asking him for my own chair, but this works just as well, with the additional benefit of bringing me up to his height (give or take an inch).

And I don’t want to make a request, just in case he refuses it. Not that he would. But I’d rather not risk it.

I won’t lie, things have been a little chilly between us. Maybe I still haven’t forgiven him for the diary incident. Maybe he’s still harboring some ancient grudge over that stupid Maia of Ulmo. Whatever.

The point is, everything was going fine until Langon showed up.

He entered the hall in triumph, round face tilted up arrogantly. He glittered with gold—circlets and necklaces and bracelets—and carried a heavy chest. His cloak was ripped and torn, burned in places. Bruises and cuts covered his arms. He left a trail of blood. Someone else’s, presumably. He looked great. The crowd parted for him.

When he reached the foot of the throne, he tossed the chest carelessly to the floor and bowed. The corresponding hush of anticipation made me want to vomit.

I made no effort to hide my contempt, but no one was looking at me. Melkor was sitting bolt upright, eyes hungry, as Langon threw open the chest. It was filled with assorted pottery, embroidery, flutes, combs, and other treasures of Almaren—riches of every color and texture. They were certainly beautiful, but I hardened my heart against them.

My distaste had no effect on Langon; he was fixated on Melkor, and Melkor was all avarice. He leaned forward, hand outstretched like a claw.

“My lord,” Langon said, lifting a delicate necklace of white gold from the chest. “The finest work yet recovered from the isle.”

Which was bullshit, by the way. It was both gaudy and derivative. But nobody asked me.

In Melkor’s fingers its links turned black. Rust ate away at its fine engravings. He closed his fist on the rapidly disintegrating metal and looked back at Langon. “What news from the south?”

“We have beaten them back to the ruins of Ringil, my lord. The Valar are scattered. But the fighting was vicious, and we were ambushed again by Oromë on our way home. I was nearly disembodied myself.” Langon tapped a graze on his neck. I wrinkled my nose. “Give me another company, and I will bring you a dozen more chests like this one.”

“Take it.” Melkor waved dismissively. “You will find me most generous if your words hold true.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Langon said. “I haven’t been wrong yet.”

I scoffed out loud. The only sound that followed was the scrape of Melkor’s fingernails on the rough obsidian of the throne. It felt like he was dragging them down my spine.

And I couldn’t do anything about it except bare my teeth in a passable grin and wait while Langon soaked up all the admiration in the room.

Useless,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Decided to go ahead with my old plan to remodel the forges. I need to do something to show him why I’m worth keeping around, beyond my astonishingly good looks and breathtaking personality. I don’t intend to just cling to his elbow for the rest of time.

Sometimes I forget how smart I am,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Haven't mentioned the new foundry plans to Melkor yet. There just hasn't been a good time.

First, he napped for half a year after Langon departed. From prior experience, I’ve learned that my lord sleeps like a very loud and amorous mountain (immovable, indifferent, prone to snoring like a landslide and trapping nearby limbs without warning). Even if I managed to wake him up, I'm not entirely convinced he wouldn't kill me on the spot.

As soon as his peaceful slumber was over, he left Utumno promptly, abandoning me on the threshold of the fortress and disappearing into the southern horizon. He said he was going to ‘fan the embers of war’ and that I was not allowed to come. As he gladly reminded me, I still haven't won a sparring match against him, which apparently means that I can't set foot anywhere near a battlefield. Not until I beat his ass in single combat.

Naturally, when he got home he wanted to spar with me again. And he usually gets what he wants.

We've been sparring a lot recently and I’m starting to hate it. Or maybe I just hate losing. In all other respects, fighting him is just like fucking him: violent, messy, characterized by extreme pain on my end and cheerful sadism on his. Thankfully, it's not too hard to switch from one to the other when I sense my imminent defeat. All I have to do is wait for him to pin me in a compromising position and whine that I'm not sure how much more I can take, it hurts so much, I’ll beg if I have to, et cetera. He falls for it every time.

The only problem is that I still don't know how to fight,
Mairon

Chapter Text

To call it a ‘plan’ would be far too generous, so let's go with ‘strategy’ instead. The linchpins of my strategy are as follows:

1 - Melkor has become increasingly erratic, flying hither and thither as if the soles of his feet will burn if he stands still for too long. He won't stop muttering about ‘the work.’ Sometimes he strides off to direct the deep machinations of Utumno, sometimes he follows the lines of his army down to the skirmishes in the south, and sometimes I don't even know where he goes—he's just gone. And the whole fortress has picked up on his wild energy, so the halls are crowded and deafening and everyone is on edge. Despite my typically stable and resilient psyche, even I have been touched by the shadow of his mania. My hands itch with it.

2 - And the forges are within my reach. I don't need his permission or his help. If anything, I think it would be better to surprise him. I hope he will be impressed.

3 - I could do it alone, but I'd rather not. My designs are excellent, but the grunt work required to realize them is entirely beneath me. Fortunately, there is a rising star in the king’s court who just so happens to owe me a huge favor.

Finding Langon was the tricky part. In the end, I had to ask Thuringwethil. She keeps stopping by to inform me what Aulë is up to, although he doesn't seem to be leading a very interesting life in my absence. According to Thuri, he’s currently moping through a series of dry caverns on the west coast, tinkering with feldspars and lecturing his remaining apprentices on the dangers of the Enemy. It’s a pitiful image. I find it quite amusing, especially since one of his smiths defected just last year.

After I explained the situation to her, Thuri brought Langon to me. I decided to meet him in front of Melkor's door. My lord was occupied elsewhere, and I knew no one else would dare disturb us there. The carvings of black and white still ooze a nauseating sense of hatred and fear, but I've grown accustomed to their snarling faces over the years. They hardly trouble me now. From Langon's expression I could tell that he was deeply unsettled. Poor thing.

“What do you want?” he asked brusquely. A critical error. He was fresh from the field, wearing an ashy steel helm that reflected me like a stroke of red down his forehead. Thuri stood against the wall, hands clasped behind her back, subtly blocking off his retreat. “You must know I'm very busy.”

“Of course. I just wanted to chat.”

I paused. He studied me.

“What the hell is this, Mairon? Will you tell me, or do I have to guess?”

I let him squirm a little longer. “Guessing. That's a good idea. Why don't you give it a try?”

He stabbed an accusing finger toward Thuri. “She dragged me away from a volcanic counter-attack for this? I swear, I'll walk away right now if you don't have anything to say except —”

“I'm calling in my favor.”

He sagged with relief. “Great. Oh, you have no idea how glad I am to hear that. What is it?”

I handed over my designs and explained my proposition, watching with delight as his round face took on a pasty, quivering quality. His voice rose. “The Master doesn't know?”

“Not at all.”

“Are you stupid?” He shook his head erratically. “No, wait. Stupid doesn't begin to cover it. Do you have any idea what he’ll do to us if anything goes wrong? I’m already in the middle of some very delicate operations. I promised I would give him another victory by the end of the year. Now you want me to drop everything just because you … ”

I sat there with a grin as Langon heaped insults, accusations, and futile pleas upon me. Finally, he tried to weasel his way out of it. I cut him off immediately. “If you don't do as I ask, you know exactly what I'll say to him,” I said, glancing toward the twisted faces of Melkor’s door. “So stop bullshitting me. We both know you don't have a choice.” It felt strange to speak so bluntly, but I can't say I disliked it.

Langon took a deep breath. “Let me start over,” he said, and it almost sounded earnest. “When the Master first brought you back here, no one thought—I mean, he doesn't exactly strike me as the faithful type. He's never kept a … paramour. Nobody figured it was going to become a whole thing. And while I wasn't dumb enough to antagonize you for no reason, I also expected him to get bored a lot quicker than this. If I'd have known that you were going to stick around, I would have tried a lot harder to make sure we didn't get off on the wrong foot. But here we are.” He cleared his throat. “So can we start over? Please?”

I wanted to laugh in his face.

So I did.

After I dismissed him, Thuri lingered for a while, looking past my shoulder. Her brow was furrowed. I fidgeted.

“I hope you know what you're doing,” she said tonelessly.

So do I,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Construction on the new foundry has begun. I've commandeered Langon's entire company to sing the stone into shape and keep everyone else out of the way. It's going very well so far. In fact, my initial designs were a little too humble in scope. Now that we're here, we might as well make it as magnificent as possible.

To that end, I've added a series of golden statues spiraling around a central lake of lava. My own forge will rest on an island in the middle of the foundry. We’ll cut a hole in the ceiling and let the fumes reach up to choke the stars.

So excited to see it all come together,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Ran into a small problem. One of Langon’s idiots tapped a vein of magma in the wrong place. The resulting spray immediately covered a quarter of the foundry. The guilty miner was incinerated instantly. So, too, were seven of his companions, a handful of smiths, and all my hopes of completing construction within the year.

Thinking quickly, I ordered the flow to be diverted into the drainage tunnels. Then I discovered that Melkor didn't build any drainage tunnels (which is absurd for a fortress with multiple lava waterfalls—but I digress). What I mistook for drainage tunnels were actually the burrows of some grotesquely oversized rodents. They fled from their molten homes, squealing and gnashing, leaving devastation in their wake.

After all the rodents were slaughtered and the magma contained, I took stock of the casualties (fifteen killed, dozens wounded) and structural damage (massive; the rodents were eating the stone as they went). Then Langon came and yelled at me, which I found profoundly unfair. It's not my fault that Melkor built a home out of dust and chaos.

But it certainly makes my job a lot harder,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Disaster narrowly averted.

I was conducting a chorus through some intricate statue work when Langon ran in and interrupted me. The resulting musical hitch caused the golden bust of my head to skew to the left, giving my whole statue a deranged look, like a puppet with loose strings. While its disturbing mien was certainly suitable for Utumno, it did not match the ‘elegant and intimidating’ theme that I've been cultivating thus far.

“I hope this is important,” I snapped, cutting off the song before things could get any worse.

Langon’s face was slick with sweat. “The Master is on his way,” he panted. “You better fucking intercede, because I am not sticking my neck out for you. For any of this. Oh, we are so fucked.”

I was already heading for the door. “Where is he?”

“Two halls down. On the left. He's coming fast.” Langon swore again under his breath and called after me, “He’s not going to like it, Mairon!”

And I couldn't disagree. Despite the magnificence of my plans, everything is currently stuck in the ugly stages of a half-finished project. I admit that my rough drafts have sharp edges. Most of the old forges have been torn down already, and the new ones are brutally incomplete. Puddles of magma dot the floor. There are still a few corpses lying around from the last incident. It doesn't look good.

So my main strategy was to find Melkor and delay him as much as possible. I failed almost immediately. He came striding down the corridor like a winter gale, and I had to throw myself in the way just to slow him down.

“Mairon?” He seemed startled. His eyes widened, and the light dimmed. I felt the same rush of blistering heat and icy terror that he always induced in me. “Move. I must see the foundry.”

I took a deep breath. “You can’t, my lord. Not yet.”

He picked me up by the shoulders and moved me out of the way. My feet kicked indignantly, but I couldn't do much else about it. So I was reduced to trotting beside him, reaching for the gray and black fabric flapping at his back as if I could drag him to a stop. “Melkor! Wait —”

“What?” He didn't sound pissed—yet—just frustrated. I wondered how long that would last. “You picked a bad time to harry me. My smiths have failed to resupply us with arms and armor for nearly a year now, and not one of the servants I've sent to investigate has returned. I must deal with this before attending to you.”

I’d ordered Langon to detain the aforementioned investigators so they wouldn't ruin the surprise. Now I sprang in front of Melkor again, nearly tripping him. I saw the first flicker of anger on his face and hastened to interrupt it. “I’m the one delaying the smiths, my lord.”

“You?” His nostrils flared. “Then why do I hear that Langon is hiding in there with the company I gave him? I thought this was some folly of his.”

“He’s aiding me, my lord,” I said smoothly. “I asked for his help.”

“And he granted it?” Melkor’s tone was dubious.

“I can be very persuasive, you know.”

He inhaled. Torchlight danced over his severe face. “Mairon, what are you doing with my foundry?”

“I can't tell you yet. Sorry.”

I had backed against the door, covering it with my outstretched arms. He would have to go through me if he wanted to see it.

His weight shifted onto his back foot; he was considering it.

“Don’t you trust me?” I asked desperately.

“Will it help the work?”

I paused.

My chief goal is, naturally, to augment my own pride and glory. But my designs always balance efficiency with beauty. When I am finished, the foundry will be better in every way. I wouldn't be surprised if Melkor’s smiths end up working twice as hard as before.

“Yes,” I said. “Of course.”

He sighed. “Fine.”

I was in the same stance he’d taught me to use when we sparred, preparing myself for the worst. It was almost disappointing to watch him walk away.

As soon as he was out of sight, I ducked back into the foundry and told Langon to finish cleaning up the damn corpses already.

I’m so good at this,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I must stop ending my diary entries on such positive notes. Had scarcely finished writing the last one before the ceiling caved in. Thankfully, I was standing in a safe corner, but most of my (Langon’s) crew was buried instantly. We spent ages just digging them out of the rubble.

Once again, I find myself baffled by the sheer audacity of Utumno. Upon closer inspection, many of the pillars I thought were load-bearing actually terminated just a few inches shy of the ceiling. Is it possible that Melkor is simply fucking with me?

Regardless, every setback only makes me more determined to finish this damn project. Langon and his soldiers do not share my resolve, but I don't care. I'm not letting anyone quit now. This is the reason I’m here, after all. No one else could handle this.

On to the moat,
Mairon

Chapter Text

All other plans postponed. Melkor just summoned me an hour ago.

I put Langon in charge of construction and met Melkor in the middle of Utumno. I was actually astonished to see him. Again. I'm still not over it. Every time he smiles at me, I fear I’m on the receiving end of some terrible cosmic prank. I keep waiting for someone to yank the rug out from under me.

He took me to an underground river that I'd never seen before. A shallow boat awaited us, ghost-white and bobbing gently on the invisible current. The air smelled aquatic and oddly clean.

Melkor stepped into the boat and held out a hand. His broad chin and fingers were lined by the pale blue light of the water. His eyes were dark and warm. The scene was so perfectly set that I simply couldn't believe it.

“Alright,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What is this?” I prodded the boat with my heel. “Some kind of trap? So you can drown me in peace?”

“You asked me to trust you, Mairon. It seems only fair that you return the favor.” He drew himself up, letting his shadow spill over me. “And we both know that any attempt to drown you would be far from peaceful.”

I couldn't exactly argue with that, so I got in. We drifted downstream, away from the caverns of red firelight and smoke, along a meandering tunnel of uncertain length. I tried to track our journey in my head, but his wandering hands made that particularly difficult.

I wanted nothing more than to stop thinking for a while. Unfortunately, that was impossible.

“You’re tense,” he breathed against my neck.

“How observant you are, my lord,” I mumbled.

“Are you still angry?”

“Who said I was angry?”

“Why else would you hold yourself so apart?”

“Did you think I’d start fawning over you as soon as you came back to me?”

He withdrew. Wavering light and darkness rolled over the pockmarked walls. I steadied myself and felt no guilt. None at all. Not even a twinge.

“Am I not King of Arda and Lord of Utumno,” he asked evenly, “free to come and go as I wish?”

“Sure. Give yourself a few more titles and maybe you'll be free to shut up too.”

I waited for him to explode, but the fight was over as soon as it started. He reached for me again. His fingers skimmed my ribs. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“I see.”

It was entirely unfair of him to read me like that. I swallowed a ball of frustration and overwhelming sadness and forced out the words, “I’m just happy to see you again.”

I don't know why that was so hard to say, or why I felt so relieved to say it. Although there was still a gap between us, it didn't feel cold anymore. We sat quietly, listening to the whisper of the ripples against the boat.

“I understand you are still occupied with your work in the foundry,” Melkor said carefully, which meant he’d probably heard the thunderous collapse of most of it. My heart leapt.

“I am.”

“If you should need any assistance beyond what Langon can provide —”

“I don't,” I said. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. “But thank you, my lord. Really.” I stood up, swaying, and leaned in to kiss him lightly. It was not entirely an accident when I fell against him instead.

He has that effect on me,
Mairon

Chapter Text

It's not good. It's really bad, actually. Not sure how bad yet. Possibly catastrophic. No, scratch that. Definitely catastrophic. Possibly apocalyptic.

He’s going to kill me. Assuming I survive this.

The lava moat was the final problem in this monumentally stupid project. See, the bedrock under Arda was much closer than I thought. We went through it. Instead of lava, we accidentally filled the lake with nothing. Primordial silence. My planned island forge stood in the center of a great void.

I say ‘stood’ because it's gone now. Along with most of the foundry. And Langon’s soldiers. And my sanity.

There is a great hole where the floor was. And, when I go to the edge, though the senses of my fana reveal nothing but absence, I can still perceive them. The nameless things. They are gnawing, even now, on the roots of the world. I never realized quite how many there were.

It started at the bottom of the moat, but it hasn't ended yet. They are taking Utumno, piece by piece, deafening even the discord with their teeth. I am holding the entrance of the foundry. I told Langon to barricade the back stair, but knowing him, he's probably fled already. In this case, it's hard to blame him. The only thing keeping me here is my own cowardice. However much I fear the absolute annihilation of the Void, Melkor’s disappointment scares me more.

But that equation could change rapidly,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Everything is fine. All I have to do is bash my head against a rock until I stop moving, and all of my problems will be over.

But he’ll still hate me, even if I’m gone. And I can't stand the thought of that—my ego refuses it. So I suppose I'm stuck here once again, wallowing in my own stupid mistakes.

I held the line. Not that it matters much now. If I had expected my courage to win me any gratitude, any grace, so much as a smidgen of pity, I was delusional. He made that very clear.

But no one else could have done better. Not under the circumstances.

I sang fortification and resilience into the double doors of the foundry, and eternity into the walls around them. I wove spells of strength through the stone until my voice gave out. I tried so fucking hard. I haven't sung like that since the beginning of Arda, when everything was easy. Having a body makes it all so much more complicated. I have to worry about things like lungs and throats and echoes. It was the echoes that threw me off in the end. In the seen world, sound bounces off everything. I was prepared for that, of course. My song perfectly incorporated the layers of my own music reflecting back at me in waves. I was counting on them, calculating around them. They were part of the whole, making it steadfast and unbreakable.

So when the doors of the foundry and the walls around them all disappeared into oblivion, my voice faltered. The melody collapsed. The echoes were gone. Any sound I sent into that blank space vanished utterly from Eä. That really threw me off. I had never tried singing alone into the Void before. It felt as pointless as dropping a lit candle into the ocean. The nameless creatures lived outside of sound. My music only fed them, taking power from me and giving nothing back.

The futility of my own efforts came crashing down upon me, and I threw myself to the floor. My hands reached for fragments of the cracking ground, trying to hold it together as it broke and decayed. That didn't work. When the tide of nothing reached my fingertips, I felt a chill that pierced both fana and ëala like splinters of ice. I don't know why it surprised me so much—of course there was no warmth in the Void—but I was suddenly terrified. I could imagine nothing worse.

I still didn't run. Not sure why. In fact, I didn't move again until the tide had reached my elbows. Then I gritted my teeth and spat out Melkor’s name.

It had almost swallowed my face when he arrived. The rest was a deafening roar of discord—ringing trumpets and hammers and gongs, the crashing of tumbling rocks, the crackling mutter of an inferno, a shuddering stampede of beasts, a landslide of noise that shook me and rolled me up like a piece of flotsam on a curling wave. When at last it broke and deposited me back on the ground, there was no silence at all. A high ringing filled the air like a bell. Melkor’s voice scratched dark, hollow words out of it. It took me a moment to understand that he was talking to me.

“ … of all the brainless, hopeless, worthless, incompetent acts you might have tried, how did you manage to blindly choose the worst possible option? If you were not transparently more idiot than saboteur, your life would be forfeit already. Have you no … ”

I closed my eyes and focused on the ringing, which was significantly less upsetting. Eventually Melkor stopped talking. I was briefly relieved. Then he lifted me, not very gently, with one hand under my arm and the other wrapped in my hair. As I started to protest, he yanked me forward, so my feet danced and tripped over each other in a vain attempt to keep up with him.

“What are you —”

“Silence.”

He pulled me down the hall, which was deserted, but when we rounded the corner we found at least a dozen Úmaiar lurking and staring with wide eyes. More were streaming in from every direction, straining for a glimpse of me or Melkor or the foundry. Gossiping bastards. My stinging pride brought tears to my eyes. Bad enough to fail openly, publicly, without being dragged away like a whining dog. I couldn't stand it.

Using one of the few techniques I had retained from our last bout of sparring, I broke out of Melkor’s grasp and planted myself in the corridor.

He stopped. His whole body was rigid, shivering with faint tremors. He looked down at me with no expression at all. “Do not test me.”

“This is no test, my lord.” I folded my arms and tried not to look at the audience gathering around us. “I would go with you willingly if you asked me to. Just —”

“I care not what you will,” he whispered. “My foundry is gone, my smiths disembodied, and yet you stand here and demand that I coddle you? Too far, Mairon.”

“Look. I didn’t —”

He closed the gap between us in a stride. I flinched. “Impertinent, stupid, meddlesome Maia, you will shut your mouth or I will shut it for you.”

“I was trying to help you.” I saw his hands twitch and ducked out of the way just in time. I suppose my training sessions were not entirely wasted. I kept babbling as I moved back, trying to hide my fear with outage. “If you had designed a single fucking thing that actually worked, that made sense, instead of just slapping a bunch of bullshit together and calling it a fortress, none of this would be happening! This place is a death trap. How is that my fault?”

“Because in your arrogance you thought you could change it,” he snarled, and the whole hall started to shake. A few stones fell from the ceiling, and the spectators scattered. I could feel the magma bubbling up from somewhere underneath; If I didn't tread carefully, we were likely to end up on top of a new volcano. “All that you did was unasked for and unwanted. The fault is mine in bringing you here.”

“Then take me back!” I yelled. And then everything got a bit messy. Because I was already incandescent, standing in a pool of molten rock where my heels touched the floor. My fire was so luminous that it was hard to tell when the geyser of lava erupted, and impossible to judge—through the steam and the smoke and the screaming—exactly who or what was burning. I hope it was Melkor, though. I hope he's still choking on the ashes.

But I feel fine,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Ten years.

Ten years of self-imposed exile; scrounging and skulking, eavesdropping, falling asleep in corners, and waiting for him to come find me and apologize.

I have to admit that it seems less likely with every passing year.

Which means that it’s up to me.

The problem is, I can't return to him yet. Not empty-handed. Not after what he said. I can't show my face until I have something good. Something fantastic. Something so perfect that it'll make up for the fact that I'm the one giving it to him.

I think I really fucked it this time. There’s a new foundry in the works, but I’m not brave enough to set foot inside it. Too busy laying low. Like a criminal, or a rat, or some kind of pond scum.

The worst part is, I still wish he’d let me rebuild it. I’d certainly do a better job than I did last time.

Lamenting,
Mairon

Chapter Text

As my own imagination continues to fail me, and Thuri has been absent for some time now (starting to wonder about that, but I have no idea how to reach her), I finally stooped to the unimaginable low of asking Gothmog for help.

It was either that or consult Langon, and I know for a fact that he wants to kill me now. Especially after Melkor demoted him from captain to courier. I could claim to feel bad for him, but not with a straight face. He deserves nothing more.

But Gothmog is a wild card. Normally I would avoid him like a bad smell, but apparently he’s leveraged his fiery ëala into a fearsome weapon. Melkor has been sending him and his friends to wherever the enemy seems strongest, and they keep demolishing everything in their path. The victories they've won so far are already greater than all of Melkor’s other forces combined. They call themselves the balrogs, and their renown is growing.

I believe that means Gothmog is in my debt.

I cornered him in a crumbly armory carved from chalk and calcite. He was easy to find; he left ashy footprints on the floor. I explained my position, but he did not agree with my logic. And my weak, treacherous fana kept sweating and twitching, involuntarily recalling the last time I'd been within ten feet of Gothmog. The bruises were gone, but the memory was still tender.

“You can go fuck yourself,” he said at last, slurping stray embers back into his skeletal jaw. “Or get the boss to do it for you. I don't care.”

“You will help me,” I said, summoning what little confidence I had left, “or I will end you. I’ll tell him you—you—attacked me again, and —”

“You think he'll buy that?” Gothmog spit a lump of molten rock between us. “He’s not stupid. Neither am I. If I touch you again, I can kiss Arda goodbye. Forever. You aren't worth it, Mairon. You’re just a fucking whore.”

“Shut up,” I snapped. “You’ll tell me what I want to know, or —”

I saw his mocking refusal even before I finished speaking. My mind turned dark and cold. Without thinking, I reached for the pale flames dancing through his ribcage. Imagine my delight when my hands actually landed on them. They felt like strips of hot gossamer twisting through my fingers.

I yanked. Hard. Gothmog didn't have much of a face anymore, but if he did, I'm sure it would have turned white with shock. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m taking this back,” I hissed, wrestling the fire out of his bones, “unless you decide to change your mind.”

“Fine!” he said quickly, lurching back. “Fuck. I don't care. You win. Just don't do that. Feels like someone’s scooping out my ëala with a spoon.”

So I released him and stood there, panting, barely believing that my ploy had actually worked. It felt like an age since the last time I'd succeeded at anything.

“I ruined the foundry and Melkor is furious,” I said. “How do I make him forgive me?”

Gothmog started to laugh, but stopped quickly when he saw the expression on my face. “Oh, he's still mad about that? You know, I heard about your little lovers’ quarrel. Sounded like a real show. Wish I’d been there to see it. What makes you think you want my advice?”

“Because he was angry with you,” I said heavily. “Maybe even more than he is with me. But you found a way out of it, didn't you? I need to know how you pulled it off.”

He clacked his teeth together. “You really don't know him at all, do you?”

“Get to the point.”

“I mean, this is basic shit, Mairon.” He was enjoying this far too much. His eye sockets glowed with baleful light. “The boss only wants one thing, and I'm not talking about your pretty little ass. I'm talking about the work.”

“The work? What fucking work? It’s already over!” I cried. “The Valar are scattered, the Maiar are dying, Arda is ruined! He’ll win in the end, foundry or no foundry.”

Gothmog seemed genuinely startled. His tone was empty. “It isn't over until he pulls the stars from the sky. And if you think he's about to slow down, or take a break, or stop caring about it, you picked the wrong Vala to fuck. You should have stuck with Aulë—ow!”

So I left him. Unfortunately, I think he was telling the truth. Now I'm just trying to figure out if there's anything left for me to do.

Because despite my incredible talents and skills, the truth is, between us, that Melkor is greater. And I'm not sure if I can be useful to him. Not in the way that he wants.

Raw and resentful,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Thuringwethil has saved me. Jubilation and relief. I can finally see my way out of the quagmire. It is a tricky and imperfect path, but I am content with it. I will not extend my pitiful sojourn as Utumno’s most useless ghost.

Thuri returned to me at the end of the year, excusing her long absence with interesting news. She has been following Aulë, and Aulë has been building mountains.

In the west, over the sea, there is a crescent of land that must have broken away during the fall of the Lamps. Aulë is there, laboring to hide the continent behind tall peaks and defend it with sheer cliffs. And he is not alone. According to Thuri, the rest of the Valar have been slowly moving to join him.

This, I am sure, will be their new home, a fortress against Melkor and a bastion of beauty. Why else would they build such fierce defenses along the eastern shore?

The war is not over. Hell, it might be just getting started. Which means I still have a chance to help him win. This time, I won't fuck it up. I can’t.

I need to see him smile again,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Off to a miserable start.

Thuri and I had a long talk, but in the end, we decided it was better to let me deliver the news and the corresponding plan. If Melkor was still angry with me, he would certainly not be pleased with any message from Thuringwethil, no matter how vital. He still bears a ridiculous grudge against her. I'm afraid he is nearly as stubborn as I am.

But I never got the chance to tell Melkor everything Thuri had told me, for in the very hour that I went to seek him, the world changed.

A silver light grew in the west. It came over the sea and slipped between the stars, brightening the indigo sky. Though it did not illuminate the Iron Mountains, it was still impossible to miss. A faint, familiar music accompanied it, in which I recognised the high voice of Yavanna.

I grimaced. And everything went to shit.

I've never seen such panic in Utumno before. Demons wailed and screamed, howling beasts rampaged through the halls, and black pits opened in the churning ground. A few Úmaiar seized the chance to loot the pantries or treasuries, only to perish under falling pillars and crumbling staircases, spilling their loot across the floor. It felt like the very bones of the earth might collapse from the shock.

I had to fight my way to the throne room. I emerged from the madness battered and bruised in a dozen places, though I hardly felt any of it. I was too busy watching him.

Melkor sat upon the throne, bleak and hard as stone. His hair was a wild mane with ragged edges. Even through the chaos, I could hear his teeth grinding from across the room.

There was a servant kneeling before him. Her voice had a hysterical edge. “— cannot say, only that the Valar have gone there and made this light —”

“And what light is that?” Melkor asked. The servant quailed. “What can you tell me that I do not already know?”

“My lord, it may be akin to the Lamps —”

“May?” he thundered. The clap of his voice pressed the whole room down several inches. My stomach lurched. “Then your death may not be in vain.”

The crowd in the throne room blocked my view of her fate, but there was an unpleasant gurgling noise that told me when she was done. Then a thick silence crawled over us, pierced by occasional shouts from the surrounding chambers.

“Can no one tell me,” Melkor asked coldly, “what the Valar have wrought? What lies beyond their new mountains? What the mind of my brother is now bent upon? Or are all of you tongueless and spineless as well?”

That seemed like a good moment for me to step forward. I slid out from between my neighbors and met his eyes.

It was strange to be looking up at Melkor from a distance; in my current position he seemed so much taller and more imposing, a monolith of shadow on a towering throne. Perhaps a grin was too much to hope for, but I'd been expecting some kind of acknowledgement. Even a nod would have been fine. But he gave me nothing. His face didn't change. His gaze felt like ice on my skin. I shivered and hesitated and finally sank to my knees.

“My lord,” I said to the obsidian floor, “I will go over the mountains to spy on the Valar and bring back the answers you seek.”

Melkor was quiet. Despite the chill in the air, I started to sweat. I had been thinking about this for a while, and figured it was the most worthwhile use of my talents (since I was more or less banned from the foundry). Despite the tense note on which I'd left Aulë and the other Valar, I was pretty sure I could weasel my way back into their good graces, especially after my brief encounter with Oromë and his Maia. The strange new light from across the sea made my plan more urgent, but no less viable. I had all my excuses and justifications lined up and ready to go. I waited for Melkor to question me, or argue with me, or tell me that he didn't want me to go.

“Then do it,” he said abruptly. His tone was withering. “You need not linger.”

I stood up. My ears were hot. “Yes, my lord,” I mumbled, and fled.

Went straight to Melkor’s bedchamber, because I knew it was safe. He won’t come back here until I'm long gone, since he clearly loathes me so much. Can’t risk accidentally running into me again. And it’s a nice, quiet, comfortable place for me to sob uncontrollably and roll around on the floor.

He always makes me feel so stupid.

I must leave soon, but for now I think I will hold the cat tightly and stare into the blazing fire. When my eyes are dry, I'll go.

Just a little while longer,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I was wrong. Melkor came back before I left. The creak of the heavy door was his only herald, and despite my determination to remain as cold and aloof to him as he’d been to me, I could not stop my heart from leaping wildly as I turned to face him.

Though both his fury and his grief are terrible to behold, I find it most unsettling when he seems soft. For he is a cruel king—they weren’t wrong about that—and has no right to present himself as gently as a warm dusk spilling over the threshold. It isn’t right. I scowled at the injustice of it all. Then it occurred to me that I was standing in his room, uninvited, for the first time in over a decade.

“I was just leaving,” I said, straightening my back and hoping he couldn't tell that I'd been crying. “But I had to say goodbye to the cat.” She blinked up at me. “Sorry.”

Melkor lifted his great shoulders in an easy shrug. “Take your precious cat with you, if you like, but —”

“Perhaps I will, since you are clearly incapable of caring for her properly.” A baseless accusation, but I had to provoke him somehow. I couldn't just let him waltz in and apologize.

“But you have nothing to be sorry for, Mairon,” he continued. “It is I —”

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” I tried to hit ‘scathing’ and landed on ‘peeved.’ “I thought it was me, but this whole time it's actually been you. Everything is you. Isn't it?”

His brow furrowed. “I don't understand.”

“Then you're an idiot.”

“Perhaps,” he allowed. “But —”

“Shut up. Of course I forgive you,” I snapped. “Just fuck me already. Do you understand that?”

He paused. Then, at last, I received my reward: a white crescent grin under two dark crescent eyes. “I do.”

“Good.”

We met in the middle, nearly crushing our noses together. He was far rougher with me than he’d been before, and in my greed I took everything he gave me. Ten years was too long to wait. Another ten minutes without his touch would have been unbearable.

Afterward, when the fire was merely coals, we piled the blankets around us and nestled down into the deep black folds. I felt loose and light and deliciously sore. His limbs and mine were intertwined, so neither of us could move without moving the other. I could have stayed there for an age.

“I have to go,” I muttered.

His grip tightened. “Now?”

“Soon.”

“To the west?”

“Indeed. If you want me there.”

He hummed. “I want you there. And here.”

“Only you, my lord, could make such a request.”

“Is it so unreasonable of me to demand the impossible from you, Mairon?” he murmured into the back of my neck. “Can you not be my spy and my consort? If you cannot play both roles at once, I confess that I prefer you in the latter.”

“I’m sure you do.” I yawned. “But personally, I would like to be more than just your pet lover and the bane of your foundry.”

“Why?” A silence like snowfall surrounded us. “I have asked nothing more of you.”

“I don’t want to rest in your power, my lord,” I said quietly. “If I’m with you, I’m with you all the way. Let me serve you until no one can speak your name without mine, or imagine you without me.”

Fearful delight flickered like a candle over his face. Two black blotches appeared on his cheeks. Then he buried his head in the crook of his elbow and groaned, “As you say.”

“Do I please you?”

“You are terrible.”

“No more than you are, my lord.”

It was enough to lie beside him without moving or speaking, listening to the whisper of his breath. I had missed that sound more than I knew.

“In my mind, Mairon,” he mumbled into the sheets, his voice low and rueful, “I was outwitting you. I see now that I was mistaken.”

I was amused. “How so?”

“I knew your skills would serve me well.” He sighed deeply. “But to order you into some work of my choosing seemed foolish, proud as you are. I would not repeat Aulë’s mistakes and make you a slave to my whims. So I set you free, assuming you would find for yourself the work that best suits you.”

“I see.” His shoulders were tense. I ran a finger down his spine and watched his muscles twitch. “Would you like me to stay?”

“Of course. And I need you to go.” He lifted his shaggy head and fixed me with a bitter smile. “The Valar are hidden from me and their new light is blinding. None of my servants have seen its source. Those mountains are far too high for me to peer over, and their peaks are infested with my brother’s birds. You have indeed found a place where you can serve me well, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

“I won't be gone long.”

“The sooner you leave, the sooner you may come back.” He sounded defeated.

“Can I brush your hair?” I blurted out, surprising Melkor as much as myself. It was a treat to watch his eyebrows jump, then knit together in consternation, then bow down in surrender.

“Of course,” he said.

I fetched a brush and clambered back onto the bed. Then, with smooth, slow strokes, I began to ease out the tangles and knots, leaving long black rivers of silk that spilled over the mattress in a gleaming flood. I could feel him relax a little more with each pull of the brush. His eyelids fluttered shut.

When he spoke again, his voice was a purr of contentment. “I may be able to help you plan out your story before you depart.”

“I was going to tell them you captured me,” I said, combing another frizzy lock into a dark, soft stream. His hair had such a beautiful sheen in the firelight, so rich it was almost violet. “It’s not so far from the truth. I think they'll believe me.”

“I can offer you a gift to make it even more likely.”

His tone made me hesitate. I knew I wouldn't like the answer, but I had to ask. “What is it?”

“Eönwë.”

My hand flew to my mouth. “No.”

“Oh, yes.”

I smacked the back of his head with the brush as hard as I could. “You promised you wouldn’t hurt him!”

“Mairon,” he said in his most neutral voice, “what you just did to me was more painful than anything I've done to Eönwë. I haven't laid a finger on him. He is perfectly safe.”

“Imprisoned, you mean.”

“Well. Yes.”

“You fucking bastard.” I couldn't believe it. “For fifty years?”

“He kissed you,” Melkor said, as if that was a reasonable explanation.

“I kissed him!” It took me a second to realize what we were even arguing about. “Are you jealous? You told me about Varda and expected me to get over it, while you've been holding Eönwë captive this whole time because of one fucking kiss?”

“Yes.”

“You asshole.”

He didn't deny it. I was trembling with rage. It took all my willpower not to set the bed on fire. After a moment I started brushing his hair again, just to distract myself from the inferno threatening to break loose.

“Where is he?”

“I can show you his cell, if you like.”

“I don't like anything about it.”

Alright, that was a lie. A small part of me was flattered. Big deal. Another part of me was already working out the best way to use Eönwë’s presence to my advantage. A third part of me was still marveling at the beauty of Melkor’s sleek and perfect tresses spread over the blankets for my inspection.

But the rest of me was angry. Very angry.

“He is my friend, you know.”

“Odd that you haven't mentioned him once since you came here.”

I flushed. But it was true; I hadn't thought about Eönwë at all since the moment Illuin fell. “So what?”

“Mairon,” he said gravely, “you don't have friends. You have thralls and thralls-to-be.”

I recognised my own words coming out of his mouth, however distantly removed, and my lip curled. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“That from what I have observed of you in Almaren and Utumno, you do not attach yourself to other Ainur unless they have something to offer you.” Melkor’s voice held no judgment, only calm consideration. He reached for me, but I shied away. “And you abandon them as soon as they serve their purpose. You dragged Langon along and killed many of his underlings in your doomed foundry project, but none of your distress was on their behalf. Nor did you flinch when I ended the Maia of Ulmo we failed to turn. Your bonds with those in Almaren broke as soon as you decided they were unworthy of you. And I suspect your outrage for Eönwë is merely a remnant from a time when you had to act against your nature. For what do you truly feel for him now, as lost as he must be, suffering dearly in mind if not body?”

I froze.

None of it was news to me, not exactly, but I'd never put it all together so cleanly before, or realized that I was so noticeably different from the rest. For I had no ties I could not cut to save myself. The very idea seemed stupid. Of course I only cared about people who were useful to me. Whether a few random Ainur lived or died was irrelevant. I thought that was how everyone felt. They merely pretended otherwise.

But I liked Eönwë. He was fine. I’d known him for such a long time. I owed him a lot. We were friends.

“Nothing,” I admitted. The brush fell from my hands.

“Then you were right.” Melkor finally took hold of me. There was both admiration and wariness in his expression. “I did not corrupt you. You corrupted yourself.”

“But you feel the same way,” I said quickly, searching his eyes as if I might find mirrors hidden in their inky depths. “Don’t you?”

“I did.”

My heart dropped. “What changed?”

“I found a servant who could not be replaced.”

“Ah.”

“Sometimes your face turns so red,” he said, “that hot coals look dull in comparison.”

“I am aware,” I huffed.

“Good.” His tongue traced his lips. “Would you like to hear my proposal concerning the fate of Eönwë?”

I nodded jerkily. He was making it hard to concentrate again. He kept inching closer, gripping me tightly, pinning me in place.

“You will go to him as you are, bloody and bruised, my prisoner,” Melkor whispered. “You will tell him of all the horrors you have suffered at my hands. And you will both find a way to escape.” His breath was hot against my skin. I had to look away. “When you come to the Valar, Eönwë will vouch for you with his life.”

I shuddered. “Do you really think he'll believe me?”

“Perhaps,” Melkor mused, “a few more wounds would help your case.”

The greed in his voice was obvious. I sank back onto my elbows. “At least try to pretend you're not enjoying this.”

“Oh, little flame,” he grinned, “Why would I ever do that?”

I could think of no good answer, and after a moment it no longer mattered.

I will leave his bed soon, limping, but for now it seems unwise to stand. It feels like I am still in the boat, and there is no sign of land. His embrace is my only anchor.

I have never been happier,
Mairon

Chapter Text

This is how we pulled it off:

Melkor practically carried me to the dungeon. I was borderline delirious from his mere proximity, as well as (it must be said) no small amount of blood loss. At the threshold we exchanged a last kiss, this one scorching and ashy. I had no chance to regret my decision, but I did feel a sharp pang of longing even before we parted. The anticipation of grief was nearly as bad as the thing itself.

Then Melkor threw the doors open and took me by the elbow, hauling me down the stairs behind him. I stumbled drunkenly and resisted the instinct to clutch at his arm. That would give the game away.

This particular pit was dark and lined with iron grates. Mournful groans and pleas drifted through the bars. Rot dampened the air. It was a piece of Utumno I'd never glimpsed before. With a strange little twist of satisfaction, I thought: if this was the first place Melkor took me, I would have run from him and never looked back. Now I had to remind myself to act as horrified as I should have been.

“Let me go,” I mumbled. When Melkor did not respond, I raised my voice. It was thin and wavering in my raw throat. “Release me!”

“No.”

A giggle nearly escaped me, but Melkor turned around with such a black glare that I quickly stifled it. “Not yet, Mairon,” he hissed. “Not until you bow to me. Will you swallow your infernal pride?”

I lifted my chin. “Never.”

“Very well. I will return when your answer changes. Do not waste too many ages. I wish to use you ere long.”

While I was still trying to work out my reply, Melkor unlocked a door beside the stairs and tossed me into a cell. I stumbled for a few steps, then belatedly threw myself against the bars as they slammed shut. He watched me with malice from the other side. I could almost believe it. Only a fine thread of a crease between his eyebrows betrayed the lie. No one else in Arda would have perceived it, of that I am certain.

“You cannot win,” I spat. “I would rather cut off my hands than serve you.”

Melkor smiled. “I’ll be waiting, Mairon, but my patience is not infinite. If you will not bend, your friend may be the next to face my ire.”

“What friend?”

He gave me no answer, but sauntered away, leaving the shadows swirling in his wake. I screamed as he left, agonized for all the wrong reasons. Everything hurt more as soon as he disappeared.

Then I had to collapse. No amount of willpower could keep my knees from buckling. I hit the ground hard with my palms and screamed again as one of my wrists cracked. Entirely my fault. I bit my lip. Blood was all I could taste, and at the rate it was spilling out of me and onto the floor, it would soon be all I could see as well.

And then, most shamefully, the thought flashed through my mind that he had not forgiven me for the foundry after all, and this was his punishment. And how wretchedly cruel it was—nearly enough to be plausible. I corked another hysterical giggle. This was turning out to be much harder than I'd expected.

“Mairon?” The whisper was parched and disbelieving. It came from the darkest corner of the cell.

I twitched. “Who’s there?”

Eönwë emerged into the light, pale and bony, bleached of all color, but otherwise intact. His face was a mask of horror. “Mairon! How—where have you —”

“Eönwë,” I croaked. “He told me you were dead.”

“I am alive, though I know not how long … What did he do to you?”

I allowed myself a weak smile. “Too much.”

“Hold still.”

Eönwë, being a far better soldier than I, did not waste too much time gawking before hastening to bandage me up. I, for my part, lay on the floor moaning and occasionally hinting at the torture I’d suffered at Melkor’s hands.

“It’s been decades, Eönwë,” I gasped as his fingers touched one of my snapped ribs. “The Lamps fell, and —”

“I know,” he said grimly.

“You do?”

“I saw the light fade before he took me underground. Stop talking and try to breathe. This might hurt.”

“Everything hur—ah!”

“There. Don't move.”

My inhales became shallow and painful. I tipped my head back and squeezed my eyes shut. “What happened to you,” I ground out.

“Nothing. I’ve been here since we … well. I think the Enemy forgot me. Or he was occupied with some other devilry. I don't know. He never spoke to me.” Eönwë sounded strained. I couldn't imagine how he'd stayed sane. “Sometimes they come for the other prisoners. I can hear them. But never me.”

“That’s awful.”

“Not as awful as—he cut you to the bone, Mairon!”

“Only once or twice.”

Eönwë was silent. I realized belatedly that I’d made a mistake, and tried to play it off with a tearfully brave little chuckle. It felt like my lungs were full of glass shards. “It’s been … horrible beyond words, Eönwë. I can't —”

“Then don't,” he said. “Really. You shouldn't talk.”

“But —”

“Be silent.” He pressed a cold hand against my mouth. “I never thought … ” he murmured, “I mean, after we left things back on Illuin, I assumed you had joined him. That you'd fallen with the Lamps. You seemed so close to worshiping him.”

I stiffened.

“Forgive me.” The words burst out of him. “Please. I didn't know.”

Awkwardly, I raised my good arm and patted his hand. I felt magnanimous with relief. “All is forgiven,” I muttered. “I’m just glad you're alive.”

“As am I,” he said, “though to what purpose, I cannot guess. I no longer hear my master’s voice on the wind.” His tone became urgent as he leaned over me. “Does Manwë still stand? Or does the Enemy now hold all of Arda?”

I coughed wetly. “Not yet. The Valar have built a new home in the west. They defy him still.”

“Praise Eru,” he said fervently. “Then all my hopes were not in vain. No matter how long it takes, Mairon, we will win our way free of this place.”

My voice lowered into a papery whisper. “It may not be very long.”

Under his stunned gaze, I withdrew an iron key from my sleeve and pressed into his hands. He clutched it to his chest. His mouth sputtered. “Mairon —”

“Say nothing.” My arm curved over his neck; my bloody hand cupped the back of his skull, twining his white hair between my fingers as I pressed him closer. “Can you call up a gale?”

His lips barely moved. “Not in this cell. Outside, perhaps, in the staircase … if the pit is deep enough.”

“We must do it soon. Before Melkor returns.”

“You cannot travel like this.”

“If he comes back,” I said, “it will only get worse.”

It was a gamble to push Eönwë into action so quickly, but I wanted to make sure the Valar saw me before I had a chance to heal. And the atmosphere of the cell was both dismal and boring; lingering here would be horrible for my mood, I could just tell.

And Melkor was not coming back. What a depressing thought.

“Fine,” Eönwë mumbled. “But I don't know if I'm strong enough to carry you.”

“I’ll walk,” I said courageously. “Have they fed you at all?”

“Scraps of meat and fungus. I dared not eat the meat.”

That explained one of the smells. I wrinkled my nose. “If I fall behind, just leave me.”

“I will not leave you,” he swore. “Shall we … shall we try now?”

“Give me a moment.”

I lay back and tried to master the pain. Strange that when Melkor inflicted it, I did not falter. From his hand it felt like a blessing. Only the aftermath troubled me, for I enjoyed having a functional fana and moving without any stabs of agony. And the blood did horrible things to my hair.

“Alright,” I said. “Get the door.”

Eönwë unlocked it and I staggered out after him. There, on the curving stairs, we were born aloft by a great wind streaming up from the bottom of the pit. Eönwë steered it according to my shouted directions, and we rode its bucking head through the halls of Utumno. Demons and fell beasts threw themselves out of the way or were pressed flat by the wild gusts. I almost threw up.

Fine. I threw up twice. It was nauseating. I had no idea Eönwë was so terrible at steering. I thought longingly back to gliding over Arda on Melkor’s rolling storm clouds.

So we escaped. It was surprisingly easy. Perhaps suspiciously easy. Melkor threw up a convincing roar as we passed the last door, rattling the pebbles on the ground, but I was worried Eönwë might have caught on to the fact that he'd let us go.

I need not have been concerned. When we landed on a bare hilltop some miles distant, Eönwë fell to the ground and wept and praised the Valar each in turn, singing odes in Manwë’s name. I feigned that I was too weak to do the same. It was, in truth, quite amusing to watch him caper around as the color came back into his pinched cheeks.

We will soon depart for the west, but for now I am resting under a tree while Eönwë scouts ahead. I am pleased. It was a good start.

I pray it ends half as well,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I am in Valinor, and my senses cannot take it all in. There is too much.

This is the new kingdom of the Valar—rich, green, and shining, ten times the size of Almaren. It is a land untainted by shadow and overflowing with growth. Death does not come here. The war has not touched it. In my eyes, all things west of the Pelóri mountains seem as new and bright as when the world was first made.

In Valinor we have abandoned the old years entirely. We measure time here by the Years of the Trees, which have only just begun. For the young Trees are the source of great light, both silver and gold, and their waxing and waning marks the passage of days. Days are like years but much shorter. I can't believe no one invented them earlier. For so long I've been seeking a word to convey a unit of time bigger than an hour and significantly smaller than a decade. It would have made things a lot easier for me if I’d coined the term a few ages ago.

But I digress.

In the glow of the Trees I have realized that my allegiance to the Enemy was a terrible error. I repented as soon as I arrived. To serve Melkor is to serve evil, and I cannot continue down that path. He is a tyrant. My relationship with him was a matter of survival, nothing more.

Kidding, of course. Though that is what I’ve told everyone here. Whether or not they believe me is another matter. Much doubt has been cast upon me and my admirable head—though not as much, ironically, as the doubt upon Eönwë, for his story is far more suspicious than mine. After all, he claims to have spent fifty years locked away in Utumno without so much as a scratch to show for it. I have begun distancing myself from him already.

As we await the next council of the Valar and our ensuing judgment, I am making a list of other things to avoid. So far, I have this:

1 - Don’t smile. Certainly don't laugh. Whenever I do, I regret it. People look shocked. Apparently it is far too early for me to display any kind of happiness, since I was so recently tortured and held captive by the Enemy. Which is especially unfortunate because I feel so damn excited. I hold my allegiance to Melkor like a secret ember within me, kindling my heart and bringing me both comfort and delight. It is so marvelous to have a purpose again. Not sure when I'll be allowed to express it, but I must be careful to reveal nothing of my inward joy until the appropriate amount of time has elapsed.

2 - Never say ‘Melkor.’ His name is too sweet on my tongue. I must refer only to the Shadow, the Enemy, the Dark Lord of Arda, et cetera. Even better, flinch a little whenever I speak of him. When I overhear his name, I must turn the other way, lest my wistful looks of longing and curiosity betray me.

3 - Resist the urge to set myself apart. It is, perhaps, my oldest instinct, honed through ages of singular focus, and it is most dangerous to me now. I must blend in with the other Maiar, no matter how dreary and mediocre I find them. Any significant scrutiny could spell my downfall.

I already know the latter point will give me the most trouble, for I was not built to lower my head and bite my tongue. But for Melkor, I will do all that and more.

I suppose he has trained me well,
Mairon

Chapter Text

Reversed my perspective on the Eönwë issue. He is, in fact, my greatest ally.

I have discovered again what I already knew: my fana is just as willful as I am. Despite how much I adore the clean satisfaction of watching my orders executed instantly and perfectly, it seems I cannot help but court chaos. A dozen times during the council of the Valar, a quick gesture nearly gave me away—in a flush, a stifled laugh, an indrawn breath, a roll of the eyes. I cannot believe how many of my instincts I have placed out of my direct control, trusting Melkor to interpret or ignore them fairly. But I am not with Melkor now, and independence of the body is a luxury I cannot afford.

Thankfully, the whole time I stood under judgement, Eönwë was beside me. Each time I felt the urge to cackle or scoff or yawn at another mention of Melkor’s heinous deeds, I turned instead toward Eönwë. His taut face and shining eyes never wavered. He did not need to doubt himself or our story—he knew both were true. So I mirrored him. I stole his conviction and his solemn expression of grief. I echoed his words. I even stood like he did, neat and humble, although I had to lean heavily on my new staff.

I had refused the first offer of healing from Estë and dressed my remaining wounds with my own two hands. It made me look more pathetic and less dangerous. I am recovering rapidly—I always do—but my broken wrist and lame foot are still evident, and a few deep cuts mar my face and collarbone. Each time they sting, I remember Melkor’s hungry expression as he raised the knife, his head pressed so close to mine that I could feel his eyelashes flutter against my forehead. “One more,” he’d murmur, “and then I will let you go. One more … ”

But even the memories are risky here. Under the clear light of the Trees and the scrutiny of the Valar, I feel perpetually exposed, as if the old masters I once abandoned on Almaren for their blindness have become sharp and keen in my absence.

In the circle of the Valar, with so many of their stares beating down upon me—eyes like sheets of paper and beads of opaque glass and white flames—fear caught me fast. I had never been formally interrogated before, not by all of them at once. I froze until Eönwë stepped forward.

“From the darkness of Utumno we have come back to the light. We are free, praise Eru, and our wills are not broken, nor our voices silenced. My king, I will return to your service as gladly as I first took it up, if you will have me.” Eönwë lowered his gaze. “I have nothing else to say.”

Manwë smiled, and I was briefly relieved. But Ulmo, cloaked in saltwater and iridescent scales, was the first to respond.

“And why did Melkor leave you untouched? For he has not harmed your fana or ëala, nor attempted to break either, though you angered him and undid much of his work in the War of the Lamps.” Ulmo folded his arms. “Well? Do you have an answer?”

“I don't know,” Eönwë said sadly. “I asked myself the same question, many times, but the Dark Lord never arrived to answer it.” He shifted. “Perhaps he was too busy with … other prisoners.” He kindly did not point right at me, but no one could possibly mistake his meaning. “Perhaps he thought he would break me with time instead of pain. Maybe he forgot I was there. Or maybe we escaped before he could enact his plans for me.”

Estë held up a golden palm. “Eönwë is not unharmed,” she said softly. “For Melkor’s shadow touched him before he was taken. Your imprisonment was not easy, was it?”

Eönwë bowed his head to her. “He did lay hands upon me once, on Illuin, before the Lamps fell,” he said. “But that is long since healed.”

“May I see?” Estë stepped into the middle of the circle. I kept myself as still and silent as possible as her deft hands probed Eönwë’s neck. After a moment, he sighed, and his shoulders rolled down and back. His wings fluttered, stretching with a creak like flexing timber. I vividly remembered hearing them crumple as Melkor threw him to the ground. Then I had to look away. I didn't want him to see my face.

“It is an old wound,” Estë said, glancing back at Manwë. “But he did not go willingly.”

Manwë nodded. “I am satisfied,” he declared. “And we will not delay your homecoming any longer, Eönwë. You have been dearly missed, my herald, my friend. For the rest of time you will be welcome in my halls, just as you have always been … unless Námo has something to add.”

Námo did not.

And that was it for Eönwë. The Valar, evidently, did not feel he warranted much interrogation after all. Ulmo was still scowling, and Aulë’s jaw worked silently, but they did not protest.

Manwë beckoned, but Eönwë hesitated.

He wouldn't leave me. I had to bite my tongue to stop the biggest smile from ruining me.

“And what of Mairon?” Eönwë asked.

“Mairon must speak for himself.” Manwë’s eyes were wide and blue and pitiless. I could not tell what he was thinking. I’d always found him simple beyond words, but now I was at a loss. For once, he reminded me of Melkor. “For we know little of how he fell into shadow, and nothing of how he returned.”

I bowed, cleared my throat, and started telling them the truth. Everything up to the point where Eönwë and Curumo had ambushed me with a cage built by Aulë could not be denied. There were too many witnesses. Eönwë had read this very diary, for fuck’s sake. I had to stick with honesty until it became impossible.

“I was tempted by Melkor,” I admitted. “In the end, I turned against him and tried to save the Lamps, but I was too late. Eönwë saw it. Melkor caught both of us in the same hour. In Utumno I learned the price of my … my awful mistake.” I swallowed and realized that I’d already fucked up by using Melkor’s name. I fought down a hot flush in my cheeks and neck. “The Enemy enjoyed hurting me,” I whispered. “For insulting him. For arguing. For failing to obey. The wounds I bear now are not the first … ”

“May I?” Estë asked.

I don't know why that surprised me, given what she’d just done to Eönwë, but I was caught off guard. My whole body stiffened even as I nodded.

She stepped up to me. There was a whiff of lilacs and wet river stones about her. Her touch was feathery and swift, passing up my stomach and down my arms. “He … oh, I see,” she hummed. “It is dark indeed. I’m sorry.”

When her fingers reached the small of my back, I cringed away. “Do you have your answer?” I asked helplessly. I wasn’t sure how much she could sense, but there were places I did not need her poking around.

“His wounds are healing, but the deep ones linger.” She stepped back. “There is little in him that is still whole. He may come to Lórien … ”

“Not yet,” Aulë said tightly. My old master looked earthier and far more solid than the last time I'd seen him. His beard bristled with mighty indignation. His eyes were chips of flint. “He has more to answer for.”

They were all frowning at me. I frowned back. “Would Melkor do this to one of his loyal servants?”

“He would do worse if you failed him,” Varda said, her teeth glittering, her eyes bright. My fingers flexed with frustration. I tried not to think about offers and Melkor and the playful lilt in Varda’s celestial voice, but that was impossible.

“You have clearly suffered, Mairon, but that does not make you innocent,” Manwë said thoughtfully, breaking me out of my spiral. “Can anyone speak to his corruption?”

“He saved me,” Eönwë said. “However terrible Melkor’s influence must have been, I believe he has won his way free of it. In fact, I believe he tried to tell me as much on Illuin, but I was too selfish to listen. You cannot take me and leave him, my lord. He rescued me!”

“How?” Ulmo asked.

I recounted the tale of how I’d acquired the key to our cell. “After the Enemy … hurt me, that last time, he forgot to bind me —”

“Just as he forgot he was holding Eönwë captive?” Ulmo’s tone was obnoxiously dubious. “Is Melkor known for his forgetfulness?”

“My brother is often blind to everything outside his own mind,” Manwë said mildly.

“That is not the same.”

“After fifty years in his thrall, I managed to steal a key, and Eönwë called up a wind,” I snapped. “Neither of those were easy tasks. Still, we were lucky or blessed by Eru to finally escape that hell, so long as you don't throw us back to him. For what did I hold out hope for, if not the mercy of the Valar?”

That silenced them. I’d expected Eru’s name to burn my tongue as I invoked it, but it was as limp and cold as a dead thing in my mouth. I stood there, panting, waiting for the next question, but it did not come.

Then, at last, Oromë cleared his throat. I’d been wondering when he would speak up. He inclined his head to me, and the circlet of silver around his dark hair glinted. “I encountered Mairon in the ruins of Almaren, laying a cruel trap for me,” he said. “But when I stumbled into it, he moved to spare me, and from what I saw but briefly, he was punished for it. I know not why he would risk himself on my behalf if he truly belongs to the Enemy.” The gratitude I felt then could not be contained. It filled me to the brim with a glowing warmth. But he wasn't finished. “My Maia, Tilion, witnessed Mairon trying to escape before Melkor seized him. I was riding hard behind them.” Then, stunning me and every other Ainu in the circle, Oromë fell to his knees. “If I had been swifter in my pursuit, I might have saved you years ago. For that failure, I must beg your forgiveness.”

“You have it,” I stuttered. “Please, my lord. I'm free now. And if you had rescued me then, I fear Eönwë would still be imprisoned.” If Oromë had ‘rescued’ me then, I’m quite sure I would have attempted to kill him. “All that I suffered was worth it to save him. It’s my fault he was there.” I took a choking breath. “It’s my fault we were both taken. I believed in—in the Enemy’s lies. I failed us all.” I reached for Eönwë’s cold hand and threaded my fingers through it. “I do not blame you for any of it.”

I could see that I was starting to convince them, but Ulmo broke through the silence before my words could really sink in. I was already tired of hearing the low, sulky ripple of his voice. “When was this, Oromë?”

Oromë stood, his green robe falling in leafy waves around him. “Thirty and more years before the Trees.”

“Plenty of time for Melkor to finish his work,” Ulmo said. My mouth twisted sourly. “Even if Mairon was not yet fully corrupted when you saw him, a few decades with the Enemy would have changed that easily.”

“And yet you were so quick to forgive Ossë,” I murmured.

This was almost my undoing. Ulmo’s expression grew chilly and disdainful. He turned to Manwë. “He seems no different than when first he fell, no matter how fairly he speaks now. My counsel is to keep him far from Valinor.”

As I watched, aghast, Tulkas, Vairë, and Varda all concurred at once. My lips trembled as I tried to figure out if talking would make the situation better or worse. The humiliation of crawling back to Melkor now was inconceivable.

Manwë stroked his chin. “As Mairon was Aulë’s servant, the final decision is in Aulë’s hands,” he said. “But I fear that if we turn him away, we will doom him to a darkness he may not have chosen.”

“He chose it once,” Námo said. His words were like stones falling into a well, slow and echoing. “But he may yet change his answer.”

That was the only thing he said, and I thought it worked in my favor. Then I hazarded a glance back at Aulë. Under the beard, his cheeks were scarlet.

“His fall was my greatest failure,” he said roughly. I was astonished. Once again, I had the overwhelming urge to smile, and once again, I knew it would sink me instantly. Instead, I squeezed Eönwë’s hand. He squeezed back. “Shall I take it upon myself to repeat it?”

“You can't be serious,” I said. “I didn't survive Utumno for you to turn me away because you're scared of failing. Do you know what he did to me?” I laced my tone with bitter certainty. “Would you like me to tell you everything?”

“And what did you do for him?” Varda asked, a little too knowingly. “For Melkor does not trouble himself with useless servants. Did you make yourself useful?”

I flinched. I couldn't help it. It was either that or attack her, and I didn't really think that would play out in my favor. “I did many things,” I muttered, “all of which I regret.”

“Lord Oromë nearly fell to one of those things, did he not?”

I hesitated. “What do you mean?”

Then they brought out the Box. It gleamed coldly in the twilight, casting a long shadow. In my head I heaped a mountain of curses upon Langon’s name. Varda was smiling the whole time, but Oromë (that damned traitor) looked between me and my creation with the eyes of a sad old hound. “Did you build it?” he asked gently.

“Yes.” No point in lying about that. I’d even signed the bottom.

“What is it?” Manwë asked.

Aulë answered for me, examining the Box as if he were handling a poisonous snake. As he described the fine details and surmised their purposes, my pride nearly got the better of me. The design was perfect in every way, and Aulë’s scrutiny only confirmed that. I forced my head to bend in shame and flattened my lips into a straight line.

“Melkor asked for it,” I said after Aulë trailed off. All of the Valar were staring at my masterwork in horror. I'm not even sure if they heard me speak. “I refused to build it at first, but he was … very convincing. He wanted it badly. He knew that only I could make it flawless.” I was veering dangerously close to bragging, so I swerved in the opposite direction. “It is a vile, awful, evil —”

“You will help me destroy it,” Aulë said abruptly, “if you ever wish to work in my foundry again.”

I was so dismayed that I almost missed my chance. A dozen protests welled up in my throat. I wanted to wrap my arms around the Box and haul it back to Utumno with me. I knew Melkor would appreciate it. He’d never even seen it. He didn't know I was capable of making something so beautifully, efficiently cruel, and now he never would. My eyes squeezed shut as I frantically sought some alternative.

Then Eönwë said, “Why would you make such a demand? He can't even stand the sight of it.”

“He clearly managed alright while he was forging it,” Aulë rumbled.

And then the spell was broken. I smiled tearfully and said, “I will unmake it gladly, Master Aulë, as soon as I am healed. For I will need all my strength to work beside you as I once did.”

Aulë grumbled a bit, but did not disagree. I'm sure half of the Valar still doubt me, but that doesn't matter. I fooled them all. They let me go.

Now all the secrets of Valinor are mine, and all I have to do is destroy my own masterpiece. That will be more painful than any blow from Melkor, but the reward is worth it.

Just one more sacrifice,
Mairon

Chapter Text

I think my eyes are unsuited for so much greenery. It makes me feel slightly ill to gaze into the unrolling horizon and see only trees and grasses and shrubbery, devoid of purpose or industry, thinking only of their own selfish growth. It’s such a mess. Someone really ought to teach Yavanna some basic geometry.

I am almost recovered, though my wrist still pains me. Irmo and Estë welcomed me into Lórien with open arms, but it feels so strange to wander through their gardens without interruptions. I keep glancing over my shoulder, waiting for an earthquake or an ambush or another one of Utumno’s frequent disasters, but nothing bad has happened yet. Perhaps it never will, though my nerves are not convinced.

Despite the tense anticipation that accompanies my every move, I must admit that this land feels protected in a way that Almaren never was. There is a shocking absence of fear and haste in all that I have witnessed so far. The Pelóri Mountains form a formidable defense. If Melkor ever lays siege to Valinor, they will certainly be a pain—to say nothing of crossing the ocean to reach them. Any fleet exposed to the full attention of Ulmo and Manwë would not last a day. I cringe to think of the size of the waves.

Still, I have been drawing up tentative maps of theoretical invasions, noting choke points and possible routes from the mountains to the Trees. Perhaps Melkor will find them useful, if he ever deigns to look at them. I don't know. I hope I’m not wasting my time. I hope he is thinking of me as frequently as I think of him, though that seems nearly impossible.

But I digress.

In the forests of Lórien there are many silver lakes attended by groves of willows. I found a good one for bathing, deep in the woods and far from the incessant singing of the Maiar. I never used to be shy—a fana is just another piece of craft, mine finer than most—but after Melkor it feels wrong to bare myself to the scrutiny of others. I fear they can see him written all over me; not just down my back, but in every inch of skin. I feel marked inside and out.

So I am relieved to have this small pool for myself, where I can float on my back under the trailing branches and ease my aches and worries.

Though I have no love for trees, I confess I do not mind the willows,
Mairon