Hello Everyone! Welcome to my extra little bit of On Angband's Wall. I was able to be AustralianRanger's beta for that little beauty of a one-shot, and after the last section, I just couldn't resist writing this version of how things went.

Needless to say, this starts out from the last section of that one-shot and deviates from there. The only thing you need to understand is how I see the Command Melkor gave Mairon before he was captured. For this spin-off edition, I see Melkor as being able to control the Command's intensity even in Valinor. So, during the second age of his imprisonment, he was focusing quite heavily on poor Mai, making the command hurt him as much as it did in an attempt to…overwhelm/overshadow/wipe out what vestiges of Mairon he had had to leave in Mairon's core. He eased up in the third age because he assumed "Mairon" was gone, unable to fight anymore, leaving Sauron to continue the work. Hence his disappointment when he came back to find Mai still fighting against his order.

I hope you all enjoy!

Thanks, AustralianRanger for letting me enjoy this AU with you! Mai's handbook should be getting written soon – if the Plot Bunnies continue cooperating with me. They've been stuck on lighthouses for the past few days. :/

The artwork used in the thumbnail is not my own. It comes from frauen-adams on DeviantArt and is called "Angband's Wall." :)

~~~~ Line Break ~~~~

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. He'd used the last thousand years especially to his advantage, exploring as much of Middle Earth as he could. The pain of the last age had lessened considerably. Now the Command barely troubled him. Though, it was still 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.

He had travel 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 last age that had passed. The Command did not compel him to do anything he didn't want to. Though he did find himself visiting Angband every few hundred years to see how the plans for his Master's return were progressing, 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 leaned his forearms against the bulwark. Just a few more moment of peace – of relatively fresh air and of the breeze. A few more moments to be himself – to be what was left of Mairon without the concern of keeping Sauron back. He could – would – give himself that much before he would have to go back inside. If he stayed here for another week, it would be enough time to satisfy the Command. Then he would be free to travel once more – at least for a few months. It had been a while since he had been East.

"I see I have been too lax this past age. Pity."

The words coming from behind him were softly spoken, but he immediately tensed when he heard them.

No. There was no way it could be. He was supposed to be in Valinor. He was supposed to be in the Void. He was supposed to be anywhere but here.

"I had hoped the lesson of the second would have stuck."

He turned, slowly, hoping – praying – to the Valar, to Eru above, to anyone who would listen to one such as him that it was just his twisted mind forming the words. But, just as in the past, his prayers went unheeded. Melkor stood in the doorway leading back into the fortress.

His gaze was every bit as cold as it was in Mairon's memories and nightmares. His bearing was straight and sure. The time he had spent as a captive in Valinor did not appear to have hurt the fallen Vala any. Indeed, if anything, he appeared stronger than he ever had. Melkor emanated power and domination. It took everything within Mairon not to shrink and cower where he stood. Not that it would do any good; not that it had ever done any good.

When Mairon caught his Master's gaze, Melkor shook his head, lips pursed tightly. Mairon could feel the disappointment dripping off of him and internally cringed.

This was not going to end well.

"Apparently, I have more training to do."

Melkor reached out a hand, brushing a strand of Mairon's hair back into place. Mairon could remember a time – long, long ago – when Aule would occasionally do the same thing. For the Smith, it had been the act of a doting parent. An act done as praise for a job well done, or in concern – when the busy Vala could spare the time for something as miniscule as concern – for how much they were working. Melkor's intent, however, was cruel.

He tried to flinch out of reach – to back away before the pain could come. But he was trapped by the wall at his back and the presence at his fore. Melkor's hand twisted into his hair, tightening and pulling sharply. His head was jerked back at an angle that pulled at his throat, baring it to the one who stood before him.

Immediately, he was thrown back to the first time he had been in this position. He no longer remembered his infraction – just the pain that had followed. He no longer bore the physical scars from his punishment – at that time he had still been strong enough and unbound enough to fix them. But he did bear the mental scars, and he was struggling to stay in the here and now, to keep his guard up – however much that would not help – against whatever Melkor had planned.

Melkor smiled down at him.

"Come, Little Wolf."

Mairon cried out as Melkor used the hand in his hair to pull him back into the fortress. The stones beneath them sung at the return of their maker. Mairon could hear the excited jabberings of the orcs and goblins coming from the nearer caverns. Even the Balrogs were joining in the merriment – their deeper rumble coming from deep within the bowels of the fortress.

It was the noises of evil's happiness. The others had been waiting – not so patiently in many cases – for their Master's return. Melkor had bred them for destruction and confusion, and they were all but frothing for a chance to cause such yet again.

He was dragged deeper into the fortress. Melkor headed towards the throne room Mairon had not entered for almost three ages. The noises grew louder, adding to the pain that flooded the Maia's system. He bit back a cry of pain as Melkor tightened the grip on his hair, pulling tighter.

"We have work to do." Was the final thing Mairon heard before the Words he had lived with for three ages flared brighter than they ever had – even brighter than they had been during the second age of his Master's absence.

Their blaze filled his mind – wiping everything and anything else out of their way. They paved the path. Their tendrils raced through his mind – cleared the way for whatever Melkor had planned next.

Soon there was nothing left in his mind but those seven words "carry on my work until I return" and the feeling of Melkor's displeasure and anticipation of what was to come.

Mairon allowed himself to be lost in it. Didn't fight either it or the despair that filled what parts of him were left. There was no point in resisting.

His Master had returned.