Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognisable characters in this story, and make no money from them. This story is purely a work of fanfiction, and written for fun. All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate.

A/N

Thanks as usual to CoffeeRanger for the beta and editing. Her additions make the story that much more heartbreaking. She has also written a AU tie-in companion one-shot to this story, which I highly recommend checking out! It is called "On Angband's Wall - Extra", and is posted under her username on both Fanfiction and Ao3.

This story was inspired by the thumbnail image. The image is called 'Angband's Wall' and is by frauen-adams on DeviantArt.

On Angband's Wall

The stars shone overhead. Despite the gloom hanging over Angband (resulting from the battle fought here, and the horrors that had been unleashed on the landscape), they seemed to shine more brightly than they ever had before. And, beneath them, Mairon looked West.

Standing in the blackened ruins of what had once been the Fortress of Angband, the Maia felt a shiver run up his spine as he remembered the Valar's attack. They had been ruthless in their efforts to capture his Master. In their wrath, they had literally torn through anyone and anything to get to him. Mairon had always known they were powerful, but he'd all but quelled before their might this time. His Master had as well – abandoning his army to flee to Utumno the moment it became clear this fortress would be destroyed.

Melkor had never been brave when faced with a fight he could not win. He hadn't even fought the Valar himself when they'd attacked. He'd remained locked away inside the fortress, allowing his troops to fight for him, up to the moment he'd fled. When that had happened, the Valar pursued him ruthlessly all the way to Utumno.

Seeming to forget about the stronghold they had just razed.

One good thing had come out of the Valar's ruthlessness, as soul-shattering as the revelation was for the Maia. In their haste, they had overlooked the fact Angband was mostly built underground. They had destroyed the mountains and torn down the outer walls. But the backbone of Angband – the underground vaults and caverns, the strongholds, the forges, the armouries, and the stores – were still there.

It was the perfect place to rally the remaining dark creatures, and begin Melkor's work anew.

As much as the thought of doing so made Mairon feel sick.

The last thing he wanted was to continue carrying out the fallen Vala's evil will. However, the cruel bindings on the core of his being ensured he did not have a choice.

"Carry on my work until I return."

He shook his head. He could still hear his Master's final order. The words were seared onto his fëa like a brand – their presence creating a wound that festered and pulsed with each passing second. He avoided thinking about it, or even acknowledging it, as much as possible. The pain increased the more he recognized it, but ignoring it was not a viable option either. If he ignored it for too long, Mairon knew the command would flare into an inferno, and would not abate, until he acted in a way that could be construed as 'carrying on' Melkor's work.

Though they had both known the chances of him ever returning were low, those had still been the words his Master had used.

It did not matter how he personally felt about it.

Until Melkor returned, or the world broke, Mairon was bound, in both fana and fëa, to obey his Master's last order.

The next time he stood on the walls, the stars were veiled. Despite years unnumbered having passed since the Valar's attack, and the ruination of Angband, the gloom of Melkor's taint had not abated from the land. It had even increased, as one of the first things he had had to do (and had avoided doing until the burning in his soul had grown too hot to bear) was restart the furnaces. Mairon looked West, wishing – just for a moment – he could see even the smallest glimmerings of the jewels of the sky.

Standing on the rebuilt walls of Angband, the Maia wondered what was happening to his Master in Valinor. Had he been thrown into the Void, never to return until the breaking of the world? Or was he imprisoned, put to hard labour, or even being tortured? While the few memories Mairon had of the Valar from Before did not include them torturing anyone, they were of the same order as Melkor.

Despite how sweet and caring he'd been towards Mairon at first, in truth, his Master had always delighted in both physical and mental torture. Mairon had just refused to acknowledge that, until it was too late.

At that thought, the scars littering Mairon's fana began aching. He hoped his Master had not been sentenced to the Void. Not because he did not wish for the destruction of the one who had caused him so much pain, but because of the presence of the command still branded across his core. If Melkor had been sentenced to the Void, then he was doomed to live his entire existence at its mercy. Bound to serve one who was never to return, without even the hope of salvation. He could not bear that thought. He would go mad before the world ended.

The Maia pulled his cloak tighter around himself, as an icy breeze blew in from the North. He was always so cold these days. No matter how many layers he put on, or how hot he made the fires, he was still chilled to his core. And, when he got too cold, his scars ached.

Still, Mairon bore the cold, unwilling to go back underground. There were too many memories; too many reminders of what he should be doing (according to the Command) for him to find peace in there. At least outside, he could find a modicum of peace – or what passed for peace for one such as he. He stayed outside until the first few flakes of snow began falling. It wasn't until the ache of his scars began fading to a dangerous numbness that he moved. Then, and only then, did the Maia retreat into the fortress.

In search of a warmth he knew was not to be found, nor would it ever be found.

The stars shone dispassionately down on him, as Mairon looked West. Their glimmer was not kind, nor was it welcoming. It was cold; not warm or friendly as it had been in a thrust-aside-and-ripped-apart past. They seemed to frown down at him, wondering why a tainted creature such as he was seeking comfort from their light and purity.

By his reckoning, more than an Age had passed since his Master had been taken to Valinor. Which meant upwards of two Ages or more had to have passed since he'd joined Melkor.

Two Ages since he'd left Lord Aulë's service. Two Ages since he'd lived without fear and pain as his constant companions. Two Ages since he'd last seen his older brother.

He wondered if Olórin still hated him. He certainly did not hate his brother. He never had. The things he'd said had not had any thought behind them; they were born from frustration, fear, and despair. Mairon regretted it all; he had almost as soon as the words had left his mouth. Olórin had gone white with shock, as Mairon had realised with horror what he'd just said.

However, before he could take it back, or apologise, his brother had shouted that he hated him as well, so much so that he wished they weren't even brothers. He'd then stormed off without a backwards glance, leaving Mairon feeling like his whole world had shattered around him.

In his worst nightmares, during his most hellish days, never once had it occurred to him his own brother might hate him.

He had left Almaren that very hour, mere days before the lamps had been destroyed, and his old life forever lost to him.

That last thought caused a lone tear to trickle down his gaunt face.

He hadn't been taking very good care of himself, and his fana was starting to show the neglect. His clothes hung off him – he'd lost weight recently, and they were now too big. His hair was in mats. And he knew, even without looking at his reflection, there were dark circles around his eyes. His sleep had never been consistent when his Master had been present. To the Maia's sorrow, that had not changed with his absence.

However, Mairon did not care about his appearance. There was no one around but the orcs and balrogs, and they never took any notice of how he looked. And it was almost laughable that he should care about his health. Maiar could not be killed any more than the Valar could be. Though, it was not out of the question a Maia's fëa could be sent to Mandos. After all, there was no evidence to suggest otherwise, so it was a distinct possibility.

A small part of Mairon – one he dared not even acknowledge in the deepest parts of Angband – held onto hope that that was indeed true. While the Command was very vocal in its displeasure of those thoughts, Mairon couldn't help hoping that something he did (or didn't do, as the case may be), would be enough to just… unbalance the scales enough to send his fëa there.

Why should he want to continue living as he was now, forever?

The stars were back when next Mairon looked West. However, he did not register their presence. Two Ages had passed since Melkor's fall. His core, and the words scored into it, had been paining him much more than normal lately. It was rare for him to complete a day without the words flaming out at him. Nothing he did – no actions taken, no orders given – were enough to satisfy it into abating. And so, the pain had become his constant companion. He could not bear to look up at the stars, or even to think of the promise their existence was. Instead, his thoughts dwelt on the elves.

They were marvels. Mairon wondered at Eru's thoughts, to create such incredible creatures. Remembering Melkor's corruption of them, the Maia had to swallow down bile. The Dark Vala was incapable of seeing anything as good, unless it had been twisted by his hands. Mairon did not understand the appeal, and was eternally grateful his Master had not forced that desire on him. While he was bound to carry out his Master's will, so far, he'd felt no compulsion to twist the elves into something they weren't for his own amusement.

Despite that reprieve, he had no doubts that was all it was. A temporary omission that would soon be applied. Every day, he felt his Master's Command grow strong. It wove itself deeper and deeper into his very existence, binding itself to everything it could reach. Mairon knew, if it kept going like it was, he would eventually be forced to do as his Master had done. Not just to the elves, but to all living creatures. No matter his revulsion to the action.

He feared the arrival of that day. He'd often walked among the elves, clad as one of their own. He'd spoken with them, learnt from them, and even laughed with them – though that was rare. He'd come to admire them, and the work they did.

He'd tried been unclad once, to better observe them, but had felt too unstable and exposed in just his fëa. With what Melkor had done to his core, not having an incarnate body to hide his damaged self in was both strange and frightening. At least in fana, he had some control over the dark power residing in him. As a fëa, his control over those elements was severely weakened. Mairon instinctively knew his fëa looked very different now to how it used to, reflecting the damage done to it. In place of molten gold and copper entwined, his self was now swirling fathomless black, with only hints of these colours showing through.

It upset Mairon every time he thought about what Melkor had done. At least when he was clad in a fana, the Vala's violation of his mind and soul was not so obvious. Even though the scars on his fana still betrayed what had happened. It was impossible to ignore Melkor's influence completely, but when he was unclad it became all too obvious. He also could feel Melkor's hold on him grow stronger the longer he walked unclad. After the first time he'd felt that hold strengthen, he'd avoided dwelling in fëa state as much as possible.

He no longer hoped Melkor had been spared the Void. He never wanted his Master to come back. Even the possibility of never being freewas preferable to the thought that He would come back. So long as He wasn't here, Mairon would fight the pain, fight the urges, fight the overriding of his own will, for as long as possible.

Gritting his teeth against the white-hot knife of protest that thrust itself through his mind at those thoughts, Mairon turned and walked back into the fortress.

The stars shone overhead, as Mairon looked West.

By his reckoning, more than three Ages had to have passed since Melkor had been taken to Valinor. Angband was once again a thriving fortress, though most of it remained underground. Not that Mairon spent much time there anymore. The pain of the Command during the last Age had lessened considerably. Now, it barely troubled him. He'd since discovered it was easier to push it aside when it could not see the work still to do, or the work he was not striving to complete.

How he wished he had discovered that fact earlier.

Even since he'd discovered it, he had taken time off to travel Middle Earth. He'd trekked from the furthest lands in the East, to the Western shore of Beleriand. From the formidable mountain ranges of the far North, to the great seas in the South. He knew the lands of Middle Earth intimately, had learnt several elven dialects, and knew what the stars looked like in every single spot in the world.

He had not breathed this easily in a long time. It was almost peaceful, compared to the torment and pain of the proceeding Ages. Though, he did find himself visiting Angband every few hundred years, to see how the plans for his Master's return were progressing.

Despite that, for the first time in thousands of years, the Maia was almost happy. He was now starting to think his Master would never return, despite what he'd said.

Which suited him just fine. He didn't want Melkor to return.

He leant his forearms against the bulwark. Just a few more moment of peace – of relatively fresh air and of the gentle breeze – and then he would have to go back underground. If he stayed here for another week, it would be enough time to satisfy the Command. That would be plenty of time to ensure the forges would run well in his absence. Then, he would be free to travel once more – at least for a few months. Mairon idly thought about where he would go. It had been a while since he had been East. Last time he'd travelled, he'd gone South…

As he was thinking these things, Mairon noticed a black spot appear on the far horizon, blotting out the stars on the western skyline. Frowning, the Maia straightened up, watching the cloud of darkness roll towards the fortress. Though it was too far away for him to see exactly what it was, dread started pooling in the pit of his stomach.

The closer the spot got, the heavier the dread in his stomach sat. Only one Thing could create a darkness such as he was seeing. Only one Being took pleasure in blotting out all things pure and good and light, like the stars.

His heart plummeted, and he felt despair take hold of his brutalised soul.

His Master had returned.

*Author sobs* For a story initially written between 1am and 2am in the morning during a bout of insomnia, I think this turned out okay.

A/N The Sequel to Óravassë is coming, I promise. I have 34 chapters written now, and kind of know where things are going (no thanks to the evil Plot Bunnies). In the meantime, there are sill a few shorter stories floating around on my laptop that I will continue to publish over the next few months.

So, what did you think of this little glimpse into Mairon's mind during the time he was in thrall to Melkor?