With hatred and anger bubbling inside of him, Mairon recalls how things used to be. He remembers strolling through the gardens, admiring the myriad of colourful flowers and the trees that seemed to touch the sky with their jade leaves. He remembers smiling up at the bright stars, singing peacefully to himself as he rested beneath the night sky. He can remember the blissful feeling he had as he watched streams of molten gold and silver run through the forges, beautiful metals that glistened in the brilliant light of day.
But Mairon loathes his memories now; the once simple pleasures have become things that are unbearable to think about. Times have changed. He is not the innocent, pure Maia he once was. Now he is corrupted and dark, and as the days pass the evil inside him grows. The sparks of kindness and mercy inside of him have all but disappeared, replaced by a hot flame – a desire for power and control.
More than anything he hates himself, hates what he has become, and he hates his Master for turning him into this… This servant of evil; poisoned with rage, abhorred by all the free people of this terrible world. Mairon wishes he could have dominion over these pitiful lands, longs for exquisite supremacy and marvelous desolation. He has always been obsessed with order and perfection, and oh, he thinks, how perfect it would be to dominate the minds of all of the creatures of Arda. A sinister but sweet victory, and a world shrouded in darkness.
Here he sits alone in his chambers at Angband. He stares into the darkness, terrible eyes watching the nothingness surrounding him, black pupils wreathed in golden flame. He hears footsteps and he clenches his fists tightly, irritated about being disturbed, his knuckles turning white as fresh snow.
"Mairon," he hears Melkor purr from outside the doorway, and Mairon's muscles relax instantly. He sighs, relief flooding through him. His Master is the only person he is ever pleased to see, though he fears him more than anything.
Melkor enters slowly, hands clasped behind his back as he stares calmly at his servant, his head tilted to one side. He strides over to the large bed and traces his long fingers across the red velvet sheets. Mairon watches him, eyes gleaming with inquisitiveness. His Master gives him an intense look, his icy silver eyes piercing Mairon's bright gold ones. The fallen Maia looks down, his cheeks reddening slightly.
"I have thought about you a lot today," states Melkor, and Mairon swallows nervously.
"What about me, my Lord?" Mairon asks. His heart flutters as he feels his Master's hand gently caress his cheek. His skin is so cold, Mairon thinks, just like his heart.
Melkor tucks a tress of golden hair behind Mairon's ear, making his servant shiver a little at the touch.
"Oh, dear Mairon…" he whispers, his tone sickeningly sweet like honey, almost mocking, "I was thinking about how you used to be… So pure and gentle and good. And now you are my little servant, evil and corrupted. But you haven't changed completely. Still so vulnerable, so delicate…"
His hand quickly moves down to Mairon's neck and he grips it firmly, tight enough to cause mild discomfort. Mairon lets out a quiet yelp, his heart thumping in his chest.
"And still so innocent, despite your allegiance to one so evil..." Melkor chuckles, then he suddenly stops and his smile fades. His expression becomes dark and cold and it makes Mairon shudder. "You are mine, Mairon. You belong to me. Don't forget that."
Oh, he never could.
His Master releases his grip and Mairon takes a deep breath. He looks at Melkor with a slight frown, unsure about what to say, or whether he should speak at all. He admires, fears, loves and hates his Master all at once, and it confuses him.
"One day I shall rule this pathetic world," Melkor says, "And darkness will cover these lands forever."
And the words make Mairon forget his past for a moment, make him forget who he used to be, and instead he thinks about the beautiful devastation of a corrupted world cloaked in ash and smoke.