Depression is Not Fun, but I'm still kicking, so here we go again!

A routine was quickly established, mostly at the behest of Estë and Manwë. Every morning Olórin woke and tended to his duties at either his Lord Manwë or his Lady Varda's side. In the afternoon he went to Lórien, where Mairon was being kept in the safety of Irmo and Estë's power until he reincarnated. There he would take his brother, walking or reading or sometimes playing with Eönwë and his other friends in an attempt to coax Mairon to the waking world.

At least once every ten days he would speak with Nienna. Those were the most painful and dreaded days, as the Lady was persistent in her efforts to coax the knots of his rage and hatred loose.

"HE deserves my hate!" Olórin spat his admission with fury and defensiveness one day when they were once more talking about Melkor. They sat beside a little pool, crystal-clear with a floor made up of colorful gemstones. Olórin had rolled up his pant legs and put his feet in the water. He glared down at the light that refracted over his submerged skin. "He deserves it!"

Nienna nodded, crystalline tears dripping from her eyes in a slow, steady rhythm. She held Mairon in her Power, gently skimming a mental touch along the outer edges of his fëa as she listened. "He does," she agreed, startling Olórin. "But you, my dear one, will destroy yourself if you allow this to fester. Your anger doesn't hurt him—he would give not a thought to your fury! But you feel it keenly, don't you? It tears you apart from the inside out, no matter how gratifying it feels in the moment."

Olórin looked down again, grinding his teeth as he struggled for words. "I cannot simply… stop being angry!" he finally said, twisting his fingers in agitation.

"Of course not!" exclaimed Nienna. "It is not so simple! But you can only begin to release that anger by acknowledging it. Do not feed your anger, dear one, and in time you will be able to do the rest."

It was a little easier after that. Not by much, but some.

As an unexpected boon, he discovered that Mairon responded best when he was calm.

He was meditating alone in the Gardens, his fëa as calm and still as a mountain lake, when their bond was finally reconnected. It was like a star suddenly burst from the darkness, a thin silver thread singing with joy between them. Olórin gasped, eyes snapping open, and for a moment he didn't quite realize what had occured. But Mairon's feelings, muffled and vague though they were, tickled the back of his mind.

Olórin's joyful mental cry brought Estë, Nienna, and Irmo to him in a split second, followed closely by a startled mental query from Manwë and Varda both. "Our bond! Our bond is rekindled!" he cried. "Look! Oh, look!"

Irmo took Marion, carefully examining the base of the bond, and smiled widely in relief. "A safe connection," he pronounced. "Perfectly formed. Oh, well done Olórin! Your patience has yielded a tenfold reward."

"Do you suppose he will reincarnate soon?" the maia asked hopefully as Irmo quickly inspected his half of the rekindled bond.

"This is a good sign," Estë said, "but it may still be some time before he does so."

Olórin wilted a bit, disappointed, but quickly rallied. "Well, this is progress, at the least," he said with an optimistic smile. "And proof that he is coming back!"

"What's he feeling?" Eӧnwë asked in a loud whisper, poking Olórin in the cheek. The normally serious and taciturn herald was bent over his friend's head like the overgrown bird he was, his senses extended curiously toward Mairon.

Olòrin pushed the offending finger away. "Annoyance," he said pointedly, annoyed. "He's echoing my feelings again, so stop." In his unconsciousness, Mairon had a habit of absorbing and repeating his brother's emotions, especially the negative ones. Olòrin made a point to be happy and content as often as possible. And it was working, to an extent; Mairon had slowly begun to echo happiness and other positive emotions.

"Be happy, Mai!" Eӧnwë cooed playfully, sending a gentle wave of joy toward his unconscious friend. "Wake up! Come play with us!" Mairon stirred a tiny bit, making both maiar's breaths catch, before he settled back into stasis. They exhaled as one, disappointed.

"He's almost there," Olòrin said with slightly-forced optimism. "It's only been a few years, and he's already made so much progress."

They thought of some of the others who had been taken prisoner, some who were weaker and would never fully recover, who would remain as wards of their Lords and Ladies until the remaking of the world; safe and well-loved, but so broken and diminished from the vibrant spirits they had been before...

"Mairon is willful. He'll be back," Eӧnwë said with utter certainty.

Warmth and… comfort? It was soft and safe and Olórin was there, surrounding him and...pleading? Coaxing?

He should come out.

But there were others too, stronger and all-encompassing in ways that reminded him of… of…

Him.

He shuddered at their mere presence, retreating deeper into the only safety afforded to him, no matter how much it made him ache to be away from Olórin.

He'd come out later, when it was safer.