The first time is during the Spring of Arda in blissful Almaren.
She's sitting there, smelling of apples and roses and the delight of her Lady's gardens, and he pauses in his steps and lets Curumo run into him.
They don't leave the forge often these days. Too much work, too much to discover. But this hidden alcove is a favourite of his and a breath of air from the grind of the rock and the smell of the ore.
"Oh," she says, and Mairon recalls her name.
Muinien.
Curumo pushes past him, eyes her with no more than a passing interest and collapses beneath a tree.
She slides over, makes room for Mairon and smiles a smile that is brighter than the gold of the jewels in her hair. He's seen her before, this maia of Yavanna, thought of her often.
He's not taken a wife yet. A spouse to have and to hold and to rejoice in the beauty of Arda with. Oh he's thought of it, yes. There has been a season of weddings in this new land and Mairon wonders now as he sits beside her if this could be her.
How perfect would that be? A maia of Aulë and a maia Yavanna. Joined in marriage as their Valar are.
But spring gives way to summer, to fall, to winter.
And when Mairon departs with his new master, Muinien casts the jewels made of his hand into the sea.
The second time is in the pits of Angband where the air smells of death and Mairon deals it in waves.
She has her arms around his waist as he stares down at the elf at his feet and grins and wonders how much guilt he must feel for letting the secrets of his kin be revealed.
"Come on," Vante says, "He has no more to offer."
She kisses him, laughs in his ear, and pulls him from the cell and into the dark of the hall and Mairon wonders why he continues this game and lets her hope.
At one time his kisses were real, at one time he craved her attention.
Now though?
"I'm glad we're here," she says, and kisses him hard. "Away from the rules and the light. I'm glad you joined us."
"Lord Melkor would be a fool without me."
She laughs.
"Oh, I know."
Her lips meet his and the taste is a bitter poison.
The third time in in Eregion where the elves craft their treasure and Annatar walks among them as a mentor much beloved.
Einioriel is soft in his arms as they lie on the grass and watch the stars pass overhead. One of the first to come to him for teaching, one of the first to place her trusting hands in his.
"Your skill surpasses all other," she sighs as she lays her head on his chest and lets the ring on her finger catch the moonlight.
"It was your skill," Mairon reminds her as he runs his fingers through her hair. "Your creation."
"Your teaching."
Her eyes are grey and beautiful and Mairon feels he could get lost in them for days. Forget his purpose for being her and forget perhaps the last age. They could settle somewhere, craft to their heart's content and he could rule his own land as a king.
"Annatar," Celebrimbor shouts, and the voice sounds like that of his ancestors of old who thought to challenge him with inferior weapons and pride.
"Forgive me Einioriel," Annatar says as he raises up, kisses her on the cheek. "I must go."
Later, when Eregion lays in ruins and Celebrimbor hangs upon a pole, he crushes the ring in his hand.
The fifth time is in the lands to the east, where the people flock to him in multitudes and his armies are raised.
"Father quite enjoys the ring you have given him," she tells him as he welcomes her onto his lap and runs his thumb over her cheek.
"Does he now?"
"I have yet to see him remove it," she says with a shrug.
Mairon grins, twirls a lock of her hair in his hand and then frowns when he sees the worry in her eyes.
She's smart, this one, it is why he likes talking to her so much.
But he has no time for guilt, no time to dwell on feelings of right and wrong. Not when their are armies to command and lands to conquer.
"I'm glad," she says suddenly, a breath that is hastily said and Mairon is left trying to comprehend.
"I mean, I'm glad you're here. I trust you to take care of us."
"Of course," Mairon replies and her hand is cold in his and her voice distant as he hears the sound of the first ring holder scream.
And when he cleanses his new Nazgul of the memories of their past lives, she is the first to go.
The fifth time is in Numenor when he is prisoner to a false king and priest to a dead god.
"Will Lord Melkor heal me?" she asks, clutching his hand and closing her eyes as he wipes away her tears.
"Of course," he answers.
She smiles, this Caduben. Daughter of burned faithful, and holder of his eye.
"I trust him," she says.
"Trust in me," he tells her.
He meets her in the nights that follow. Cleans his hands of the blood of innocents and heals her with the magic that is whispered about on the streets. Hides the bodies and dances with her before the grand statue where only hours before people knelt in reverence.
Kisses her, and wonders what another broken rule is in the grand scheme of things.
And when she lets fall the body of a once beloved family member before his feet, he leaves her to drown in the sea.
Sauron finds her at last on the fields of Gondor five years after the war and when he is no more than a ghost.
Finds her brushing back his blackened hair with a shaky hand and searching his face for answers with eyes that do not widen in disgust.
Finds her listening to his mumbles, his reflections on the past and regrets of his choices.
Finds himself kissing her and taking her hand in his, and wishing she could have seen him in his glory.
Finds himself thankful that she did not, and that she sees him now with his sins burned away.
Wonders what would happen if he had known her sooner.
Wonders how she can know a glimpse of the truth, and not fear to let him take her in his arms.
"There is much you do not know of me," he tells her two years later, when she rests beside him and lets her ring click against his.
"I know enough, Mairon," she says. "I know I love you."
"A foolish decision," he tells her, kisses her and lets her feel at peace in his arms.
"Yes, they were," she laughs. "But you are making the right ones now."