I know I was planning to wait until Wednesday to post this...but I'm going to go ahead and do so now.

Rarely did all the Valar meet in the Máhanaxar in the later Ages of Arda. However, as the Third Age gave way to the Fourth, they gathered, intent on untangling the confused mess that had ended the Third Age, and passing judgement on those involved.

The bearers of the Three were present, as well as the Maia they had sent to aid those in Middle-earth and had instead tried to rule all, and the one who had fallen long ago, but had proved instrumental in seeing the forces of Light triumph. Saruman was currently being held apart from the rest, as the Valar decided to get the story from the others before hearing his version of events.

Galadriel looked serene to one who didn't know her, but on closer inspection one could see the anxiousness and anticipation she held under control. Elrond and Olórin's attention was focused on the dark figure they held supported between them. Sauron had been badly burned when Orodruin had erupted, and not even the combined might of the Three had been enough to heal him. He was clad all in black, concealing all but his face. His hair was cropped to his shoulders, and the right side of his face was scarred. It was impossible to see if his eye was also damaged, as he kept his gaze firmly on the ground.

Olórin spoke first, telling the long, confusing tale. It took some time, but finally he finished with the journey to Valinor. Elrond and Galadriel spoke next, adding their own insights and observations. When they were finished they left, anxious to see their families, though they did request to be informed when decisions were reached as to Saruman and Sauron's fates.

Then Olórin, at Manwë's bidding, helped Sauron kneel, which he did awkwardly due to the damage done to his right leg, and prepared to leave. Before he could do so, Manwë rose from his throne and caught him in an embrace.

"Lay aside your guilt and self-blame, my child," he whispered gently. "You have done all that was expected of you, and I am very proud of you." Sauron looked away. He was not jealous, and was glad that his brother was receiving the love and healing he needed, but the sight triggered the dull ache he'd lived with since first coming to Eä.

Olórin left, and the Valar asked Sauron to tell the tale again, through his eyes this time. He did so, speaking simply and concisely, his gaze fixed on his knees. He ended with the destruction of the Ring and Orodruin's eruption. There was a thoughtful silence before Námo broke it.

"Can you come here, child?" he asked softly. Sauron shook his head.

"I cannot rise unaided," he said in a low voice. Námo rose and came forward, supporting the Maia as he tried to gain his feet. Halfway his leg gave way, and he collapsed, leaving his entire weight supported by Námo. However, his slight frame was no difficulty for the Vala, and Námo easily pulled him completely upright. Then, stooping slightly, he placed an arm behind Sauron's knees, pulling him to his arms before walking back to his throne.

Once there, Námo removed the Maia's boots, then followed with the rest of his clothing, until he was clad only in small clothes, revealing the damage Orodruin had done to his form, as well as the older scars. The entire right side of his body was freshly scarred, with enough damage to his arm and leg that their functionality was greatly reduced, especially his leg.

Estë rose from where she sat and came over to the small Maia, tipping his head back to get a better look at the scars on his face. His eye had been damaged, visible now as he was forced to raise his face for the first time.

"Close your eyes, child," Estë murmured. Sauron complied, and she gently rested the fingertips of her left hand on his closed lid. When she let go, his eyes fluttered open, and he blinked a few times, focusing. Estë quickly ran him through a few simple tests to ensure his vision had returned to normal.

"Do you want me to heal the rest of this?" she asked, indicating the rest of the scars. Sauron hesitated.

"Those on my face and hand, yes," he said. "And I'd like to be able to use my limbs again. Other than that…I'd like to keep it."

"Why is that?" Námo asked him.

"It's the only scar I have from doing something right," Sauron replied quietly. "All the rest are from when I messed up." Estë seemed surprised, but did as he asked, starting with his face. She quickly healed all the damage there, restoring his hairline to normal, which apparently itched when the new hair sprouted. Rather than leave the short fluff, Estë grew it out to match the rest, which was just below shoulder length.

She then continued down the rest of his body, healing the damage done to the muscles and nerves, but leaving the surface level scars, except for those on his hand. She spent quite a bit time making sure his hand still had the dexterity it would have had before, realizing how much he used his hands.

When Estë was done, Námo helped Sauron back into the leggings he had been wearing beneath the full length robe, then simply wrapped him in a blanket which Vairë handed to him.

"We need to hear Curumo's version of events now," Námo told him. "However, as you and he were the sole witnesses of many of the key events, if you will assent to it, we would have you remain, to ensure he cannot twist his story too much." Sauron bit his lip, fear creeping into his gaze. The last time he had seen Saruman was still vivid in his mind.

"You will be hidden from his view," Námo reassured the Maia he held. "He will not see you or hear you, and will not know you are here. Nor will we allow him to harm you." Slowly, Sauron nodded.

"I will stay," he said quietly. Námo nodded and closed his eyes for a moment, focusing, though nothing changed to Sauron's eyes.

"Almaron," Námo called the name of one of his Maiar, and the brawny Maia appeared, escorting the form of Saruman. Saruman looked nothing like the Maia who had caused so much trouble and consternation in Middle-earth, with his robes torn and dirty, and his hair disheveled. But Sauron could not help his first reaction upon seeing the other Maia, and violently shied back into Námo, who tightened his grip.

"It's alright, little one," Námo murmured to the now slightly shaking Maia as he nodded in dismissal to Almaron. "You are safe." Sauron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, pulling his emotions back under control with Ages of practice.

Saruman was sullen at first, when the Valar began to question him. He seemed to feel himself very ill used. But when the questions touched on what he had done to Sauron, his attitude changed to one of mocking contemptuousness.

"He deserved everything I did to him," Saruman said. "I went to Middle-earth to see him humbled and overthrown, and that's just what I did. If Olórin hadn't been sent along, everything would have been perfect. Olórin was far too sympathetic towards Sauron, but what else could one expect from the brother of that miserable brat? He protected him up to the very end, the traitor. He even protected him when I was about to finally win, about to destroy any resistance Sauron would have ever offered." Manwë looked at him sternly.

"Are you referring to when Olórin stopped you from physically raping his little brother?" he asked, in a caustic tone unusual for the Elder King. Saruman looked sulky.

"All I did was kiss him," he groused. Sauron made a noise of disbelief akin to a snort.

"Is he lying?" Námo asked him calmly.

"Oh, it was only a kiss, but considering that by the time Olórin got there I was pinned to a wall, he had forced my mouth open, and was running his hands all over me…" Sauron broke off, shuddering. "I've never been more relieved to see someone than I was when Olórin came," he whispered.

"Besides, that's hardly the worst thing he's been subjected to," Saruman regained his boldness, and proceeded to lay out what Sauron had suffered under Morgoth and later in painful detail. Sauron buried his head in Námo's chest as he was forced to listen to the past he could not bring himself to talk about being paraded around by the Maia who had treated him as Morgoth had. Námo tightened his arms protectively around the small Maia he held, and the expressions of the Valar grew more and more set as they let Saruman talk.

"He is so easy to manipulate," Saruman bragged. "He's been conditioned not to fight back against someone more powerful than him, no matter what they do to him, and once I had broken his defenses, it was all too easy to do anything I wanted with him. He's been treated so poorly he has almost no self-worth left. Broken, helpless…it was all too delightful to watch that controlled façade he wears fall away to the vulnerable little creature he really is. He created that Ring in an attempt to keep from being hurt again…and that's exactly what I used it for." He smiled, predatory and cruel.

Sauron raised his head, as fear and disgust spilled over into anger and hatred. Those were two emotions he was well acquainted with, and he pushed himself up, throwing off the blanket and sliding off Námo's lap. He stalked towards Saruman, who turned in surprise to find the other Maia there.

"Why do you hate me?" Sauron demanded. Saruman's face twisted.

"You're a traitor! You deserved–"

"You hated me before you knew that. Why?" Sauron cut him off.

"You were always so powerful, always had everyone adoring you–" Saruman began bitterly. Sauron cut him off again.

"Adoring me? I had a grand total of four friends, Curumo, one of whom was my brother! You were the one who had everything: friends, family, the esteem of our lord… You had everything I ever wanted. As for power?" he shook his head, laughing bitterly. "All that got me was Melkor's attention. You know my life Curumo, nearly as well as I do after what you have done to me. Do you really want it?!" Saruman said nothing, face suddenly uncertain.

"No, you don't," Sauron continued. "Because no sane being does!" Saruman's confusion shifted back to anger, and with a snarled oath, he grabbed Sauron. But Sauron was no longer helpless, and with quick precision, he slammed his fist into the other Maia's solar plexus, leaving him gasping for air.

"And I am no longer your slave," the younger Maia snarled, as he turned and walked back to Námo's side, his expression morphing into one of sullen exhaustion. Námo simply pulled him back into his embrace, and Sauron tiredly closed his eyes and rested his head on the Vala's chest, fight apparently gone out of him.

"You have chosen your path, Curumo, and thus it seems we must see you sentenced to the Void," Manwë began dispassionately.

"My Lord Manwë," Sauron interrupted, "Though it is not my place to decide this, I would not see him thrown to the Void."

"You would show him mercy?" Manwë asked in surprise.

"No," Sauron replied. "But I find that I cannot subject another to what I have been subjected to." He eyed Curumo. "Perhaps you would feel the same if you were in my place…or perhaps not. I don't know. I don't care." He turned his attention back to Manwë. "Besides, Morgoth does not need another sadistic Maia under his command. Those he has are more than sufficient."

"I don't want your pity," Curumo spat. "You little traitor! I don't want your pity. I should have broken your mind, until you couldn't even think of plotting against me: my perfect little slave, obedient to me in everything, anything I asked–"

"Almaron," Námo said, and that Maia appeared, bowing to his lord. "Take this one back to his cell. None here wish to listen to him any longer."

"Of course, my lord," Almaron replied, and wrapping a large hand around the back of Curumo's neck, thought them both back to Mandos.

"I see no harm in leaving him there for an Age or two," Námo said. "Then if we want we can pull him back here to see if he's re-thought his attitude at all." Manwë sighed.

"We shall do that then, granting him the mercy you asked for," he said, addressing the last part to Sauron, who shrugged.

"His sentence is indeed merciful, but it would not be accurate to ascribe it to me," he said. "I'm still very convinced throwing him and Gothmog together in a small space for the rest of eternity would be an excellent fate for them both."

"Perhaps," Námo said in reply, running his hand through the Maia's short hair. "But enough of him. It is time to determine your fate, little one."

"I only ask that I be given time to say goodbye to Olórin," Sauron said with a soft sigh in his voice, his mood shifting back to the resigned hopelessness he'd first displayed.

"Are you so certain we will throw you to the Void?" Námo asked.

"Is it not what I deserve?" Sauron returned. "After what have I done?"

"What have you done?" Námo replied.

"I have betrayed everything I was supposed to be, and have rebelled against my creator," Sauron said incredibly softly. Námo gently took the Maia's face in his hands, forcing Sauron to meet his eyes.

"Yes, that you have done," he answered. "But you did not start the Rebellion, and a second chance was offered even to those who had. Why should you be different?"

"Because I was already offered that chance, and I rejected it," Sauron replied. "At then end of the War of Wrath, I was commanded to return…and I did not. Was not that my second chance?"

"If you had returned, it would have been," Námo said. "Tell me, child, why did you not return?"

"I was scared," Sauron admitted, closing his eyes. "I was afraid that I would be hurt further, so I ran…"

"A reasonable reaction, considering what you had already suffered at that point," Námo said. "It would have been better had you returned then, but you did not. What did you do?"

"I tried to be good," Sauron said in a broken voice. He would have ducked his head if Námo had allowed him to. "But I failed. And then I enslaved myself to my own creation, and have existed thus for an Age and a half."

"An enslavement you managed to free yourself from," Námo reminded him.

"Yes, but not before I did unforgivable things…I am evil," Sauron cried, a sob breaking in his voice on the last word.

"Tell me, child, does evil love?" Námo asked quietly.

"No," Sauron answered instantly, though he seemed confused by the sudden subject change. Námo gently ran his thumbs over the Maia's cheeks.

"Yet everything you have done in this war was out of love for your brother. So then, how can you be evil?" Sauron was silent for a long moment.

"But if I'm not evil…what am I?" he asked softly and sincerely.

"A stubborn, fragile, and scared young Maia, who has made mistakes, yes, even done great evil…but has also great good. And one who is not yet beyond salvation." Sauron closed his eyes, bitting his lip, and to his surprise, a tear ran down his face. He hadn't been able to cry in so long…

"He told me I was," he whispered.

"Who did?" Námo asked gently.

"Morgoth," Sauron answered. "At the end of the War of Wrath, he asked me if I was going to try to go back…He said–'Remember, little wolf, there is no salvation for you.'"

"And who was he to declare your fate?" Námo asked, softly, but there was steel in his voice the Maia could not ignore. "Do you want him to have that power?" Sauron shook his head as much as he could, mouthing 'no'.

"Then don't let him," Námo said, releasing the Maia's face to pull him again into his embrace. "Your destiny is your own choice."

"But will I get that chance?" Sauron whispered softly. There was no answer, and he knew the Valar were debating his fate. He lay still and quiet in Námo's arms, knowing this might be one of the last times he would be treated gently. He thought of Olórin, and his brother's words on hope. Could he hope? Would everything turn out the way it should be?

Atar…his heart whispered softly, emotionally exhausted. He wished he could remember a time when he didn't know what fear and sorrow were. Perhaps then, he would be able to trust in his Creator's love. But perhaps…perhaps it was the not knowing that made it truly Estel. If he hoped, and it was proven false, it would destroy him. But if that hope were groundless, he would be destroyed anyway. So for the first time since he had first let his fear of Melkor become stronger than his trust in Ilúvatar, he let himself hope.

Atar…I'm sorry…please…please save me.

Námo nodded to Manwë. "You will get your chance, Mairon," he said softly. Mairon exhaled shakily, turning his head to bury it in Námo's chest, feeling the Vala gently stroke his hair. "There are some things you may not like," Námo warned gently. "You will be bound; you will wear a collar. Partially it will be to bind your natural powers, but more than that, it will also protect you. Your mind is extremely fragile at the moment, and I would not see you injured through accident or carelessness. The collar will shield your mind as you naturally would." Námo paused for a moment.

"It has been decided you will come with me, until I deem you recovered enough to take up normal service. Then you will be able to decide whom you wish to serve, as any other Maia would. The collar will then be removed when your lord or lady deems it fit." He tilted Mairon's head up to look into his eyes. "Is that acceptable to you?" he asked gently. Mairon nodded. It was more than he'd ever hoped to receive.

Aulë reappeared, and Mairon only belatedly realized that he'd been gone. He held in his hands a small band of gold, set with tiny black onyx and rubies. It was small enough to be mistaken for a necklace, and small, reluctant smile graced Mairon's face as he realized it was even in his colors. Námo lifted Mairon's hair out of the way, and a small shiver shook the Maia as he felt his former lord's hands around his neck, carefully and gently fitting the collar. Mairon licked his lips as he read the energy radiating from the collar, realizing it was actually gold-wrapped tilkal.

"There," Aulë said in satisfaction as he finished. "The shields within it are dependent on your emotional state," he explained to the Maia. "They will keep out any random or stray thoughts from others, but they can be bypassed if you remain calm. Fear or panic will raise them, and should even be able to keep out a Vala, if you need them to." He gently ran his hand over Mairon's head, neck, and back before returning to his throne.

"Is there anything else he needs to know?" Námo addressed Manwë, who shook his head. "Then let's get you home, little one," Námo murmured to Mairon.

Home, Mairon thought, a small smile beginning to spread on his face, hands slowly beginning to twine into Námo's robes. That sounded nice. He was going home… And tomorrow he would still be there. Tomorrow he could see Olórin, and tell him he had been right… He closed his eyes with a soft sigh, utterly exhausted, but feeling safe and content.

Tilkal is the metal that Aulë created to forge the chain Angainor in the Book of Lost Tales.