A/N:

I've often asked myself... did an uncorrupted Maia turn into the lieutenant of Morgoth at the flick of a switch? I doubt it.

The appearance of Sauron in this fic is that which the artist Krabat envisioned.

This is not slash, this is misery with moments of respite.

And lastly, obligatory disclaimer: I do not own anything pertaining to Tolkien, and make no money from it.

I would love to hear what you think. I aim to keep this to a T rating until such times as it cannot bear it.

A new beginning

He opened his eyes with much difficulty, his eyelids caked with dust and blood. The bluish black carved walls of the cell he was in sneered their blackness right back at him. There was no light nor sound in this place, other than the golden red light of his tired eyes and what remained of the pulsing gold seeping from his writhing fëa through his skin.

The cold, ragged wall of obsidian cut into his frayed back, and never before had he wished he lacked physical form as much as he did now. The attempt to move his arms and legs was halfhearted with the heavy iron chains shackling his limbs. Lord Melkor had not spoken lightly when he said this was to be his first, and hardest trial.

The standing figure chained to the wall of a dungeon somewhere in the nether of Utumno sighed, dropping his head forward in what may have been defeat.

"Fiery One, would I do this if it were not a crucial part of your learning, of your growth?" his lord had said in a honeyed tone as he had the heavy chains clasped around his wrists, ankles and neck. "Remember, all I do is for your benefit, and yours alone."

He lowered his head as much as the metal collar allowed, straining against the metal bolts. Long, waist length copper locks shielded a fair, youthful face covered in drying blood. Surely this... lesson, had to be over soon. This was not what he had expected when Melkor said he would teach him all he knew and more.

"In order to rebuild, one must first obliterate the old foundations. So it was during the Song, during the making of Arda, and so it is now."

He failed to understand why his fëa needed more work before being able to absorb the learning his new Lord was wont to impart upon him. He failed to understand why Lord Melkor had taken him under his wing and promised him boundless power and rule, and yet he now stood here, abandoned and bloodied, imprisoned as the basest of beings.

He failed to understand why he had heard nothing and no one, not a breath, not a whisper, for an eternity it seemed. No sound except that of his ruminating mind and regularly beating heart. Time was always different here, in this Middle-earth. He felt it drag, in a succession of loss which had been nonexistent in the Timeless Halls.

Surely Lord Melkor had not left him to this endless darkness?

Nay, he would never do such a thing. Not when he had gone to such great lengths to hedge and convince the young Maia to openly swear his allegiance. And so he had, fleeing the Blessed Realm shortly after the rest of the Valar had moved their dwelling to Aman following the destruction of those horrid light sources. He had left it all behind for greater glory and knowledge. And he would reap its benefits... as soon as he was deemed fit to serve.

Still, he could not help but think, that Lord Aulë would never have done this. But perhaps, he thought, each Vala had their own way of imparting their teachings. He had seen it himself with his fellow Maiar, though never in this manner. Never bearing such pain. And Melkor had warned it would not be an easy process. "With utmost strength comes great trust. When I am done, we shall be bound together, you and I. And our purpose is clear, I see it lined before us throughout the Ages. A reign of metal, control and order. Order which for the most part, you will bring, young one."

Patience was a trait he had never excelled in, but this time it would be his chief driving force. He trusted lord Melkor, and knew the mightiest of the Valar would not fail him. It was this trust which led him to flee the Blessed Realm after Almaren.

Almaren...

A flash of golden light speared through his thought but he shook his head, freeing himself of the memory.

Almaren was no more.

Almaren was no more, and he had contributed to that quite heavily, bringing forth the praise of his new Lord.

This was home now. Utumno, this underworld carved so deep into the flesh of the earth and cast in obsidian with fire by lord Melkor himself, was his new abode.

His throat felt parched, his head hurt with the force of a thousand earthquakes shuddering and caving the elements within. His body felt inconceivably stiff from endless hours standing and hanging in these wretched chains.

He himself felt wretched, and a swift feeling of abandonment thrummed through his weakened fëa.

He wished this would be over and done with soon.

Patience...

Surely, lord Melkor was not looking to have him disembodied? He shivered at the thought of being thrown into the clutches of Námo, and subsequently exposed to the wrath of the other Valar. And they would be nothing less than murderous no doubt when they laid eyes on him. No, his new Lord would never do such a thing.

The Maia breathed in the rotten air though his chest hurt to do so, and steeled himself against the onslaught of memories from Before. But they would not let him be, and would ever encroach upon his waking senses.

He yelped in frightened joy as strong hands hurled him high up into the fresh new air of summer, his then young body floating into the ether with his soaring laughter.

He shook his head, pressed his eyes shut tightly.

No, Before was gone. He had been wasting away there, serving an Order blindly with no view of the future. A future he had no say in. All he had ever done was to follow. All he had ever done was to listen. He had little sway in any of the great workings of his former lords; a father who prevented and chastised him for unleashing his powers, ever preaching for restraint, and a life of thralldom. Or at least, that was what lord Melkor had told him when discussing his situation at the time.

As he mused over this, attempting to ignore the pain in his bloodied wrists and ankles, the air shifted and became colder. Soon it was freezing, and his breathing came in a light mist, and even the fire he wielded within felt weakened and simmered to dying embers.

His heart leapt in his throat. He knew what this meant. At last.

The cold turned to frost, and a void twisted and turned before him, swallowing whatever light the chained Maia exuded.

His eyes widened as the void became a black thought, then a shifting shadow, and finally took form.

He was soon staring into black eyes which swallowed his vision, and a deathly pale face framed by long, straight black hair. The figure was garbed in black, from the cowl of its cape to the greaves on its shins, to the metal of its heavy sabatons. The new presence was tall and imposing, the air about it enshrined in horror.

"My lord," the chained one croaked, his voice harsh with disuse. His chest felt full and hopeful that at last the Vala would carry on his teaching.

The new presence said nothing for a good while, instead inspecting the state of the one before him. He approached in the end and took the imprisoned Maia by the chin, his cold touch deceptively soft.

"Young one," he said looking straight into the amber eyes of his prisoner. He looked, and looked. And then the corners of his lips curled upward.

At first confused, the Maia suddenly curled in on himself and pulled his chin away as a sharp, flaring pain shot from his very center. It was as if he was being burnt from within, his innards scorched and twisting, until the fire, his fire, reached his lower body, his arms, his throat. Shafts of light aimlessly poured through his eyes and open mouth as his wail resounded through the emptiness of Utumno.

His own fire burst with renewed strength and then diminished, burning parts of him away. At one point it came to an end, leaving the Maia slumped heavily against his chains.

"My... lord...," he succeeded in lifting his head to meet the gaze of Melkor. The black-haired Vala kept looking at him with a fatherly mien, surrounded by deep shadows which swirled around his figure akin to slithering snakes. "...You have returned."

"Of course I have returned, child," the silky voice smeared the walls of his mind. "Did you think I would abandon you?"

"No...," the young Maia tried. "No, I would never think such a thing," he said truthfully though with fear as well, hoping the Vala would not see fit resume the lesson from earlier any time soon. He would do this regularly upon each visit, and with each and every time he felt a part of himself being chipped away; and there were many memories he now could barely only grasp, before withering away like ashes in the wind.

Melkor raised a pale elegant hand, smoothing russet gold strands from the grime covered face of his apprentice. "I see there has been improvement. I trust, you are still determined to be strong. Will you continue to be strong, young one? Or else if you cannot weather this hard but necessary trial..." he trailed off, seeming disappointed.

"No!" the russet haired one growled forcefully, and for a moment his fiery eyes flared into menacing flames. "No, I will... I will do what it takes. I wish to serve you well."

The one called Melkor gave a show of straight, white teeth. His arresting beauty would once startle hearts and heads of Maiar and elves alike, but now it seemed more a threat than anything the russet-haired Maia could remember. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked the naked prisoner over thoughtfully.

"What is your name?" he whispered his question after a while.

The young prisoner seemed confused. But then, staring into the black voids that were Melkor's eyes, he licked his parched lips to attempt for what he hoped, was the most appeasing answer. "Mairon... my name, is Mairon," he tried, following any change in the other at his words, though he saw none.

Melkor was still as death for a long, long time.

The Maia began to shiver anew in his chains, his unease almost palpable in the dim suffocating cell.

"I think," the pale one said in the end, his voice calm and soothing to the spent nerves of the Maia, "that you must try harder," he said as he produced a black obsidian dagger.

"M-my lord?"... the young Maia stammered startled, his eyes on the weapon as Melkor reached and grasped him strongly by the chin.

He saw the tip of the dagger from the corner of his widened eye, praying the Vala would not do it again-

The blood curdling scream which ensued would have frozen the Grinding Ice twice over.

"I think," Melkor continued, paying no heed to the tormented cries of his apprentice, "-that you are still confused. I see that you are yet riddled with doubt. And that I cannot abide by. I need complete and utter trust, Fiery One," his voice gained a hollow edge. "Complete and utter... trust, " he repeated as the dagger sliced his handiwork into the flesh of the other, carving the lines of a symbol which now seeped black shadows into the cheek of his prisoner. "Will you give it freely? Will you strive to be what I need you to be? Because I do need you, my young, most powerful one," he appraised, as the other lowered his head with the pain, bright red blood dripping down his mangled cheek and from his chin, striking the floor in drops with a smoldering hiss.

The tall dark one waited, and moments innumerable passed before he heard an answer.

"I will... ," the panted words came weakly.

"I could barely hear you," Melkor offered coldly.

Amber eyes flashed into his own, and the Vala smirked with the flicker of hate he noticed in them. It was all going as ordained.

This time his voice came more determined, harsher and colder. "I will do my best, lord Melkor."

The smile never leaving his pale, bruised lips, Melkor tilted his head slightly to the right, watching the young fire Maia shrewdly. "And your best is usually enough." The dagger disappeared, and with it his Lord turned his back on his pupil.

"Until such time as we meet again, ponder on my words, and on who you are," the voice hissed in the mind of the Maia.

His head shot up and his body contorted with the surge of deep, primal fear rising and radiating from him in golden-red waves. Fear that he would be left alone once more, abandoned and empty. Fear that he would be deserted. "Wait, when will you-" ...return? Will you keep me here much longer? Will the trial cease soon?

But his words fell on scattering shadows, and the russet-haired Maia was alone once more.

He lowered his head in a withering sigh, suddenly finding he had difficulty remembering many things. Even his own name seemed a chore to grasp. He felt as if he were trapped at the bottom of a darkened lake, its waters mercilessly sluicing into his mouth, his throat, his eyes, his ears; wading with no hope for air nor succor.

Mairon... that is my name.

Is it not?

Song: Deftones - Hearts/Wires