Chapter 6: A Maia's Revenge-part 4

Mairon was yanked from oblivion by a shower of ice-cold water. Gasping in shock, pain and fear, the Maia opened his eyes. The action caused a white-hot knife of pain to thrust itself through his head,. Mairon closed them again with a broken sob. He managed not to pass out by sheer force of will, knowing it would be worse if he didn't at least try and stay conscious.

Nehtartúra didn't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to wake him up whenever he lost the battle. While his creativity in doling out punishment was woefully lacking in comparison to Melkor's, Mairon still wanted to avoid making his captor any angrier than he already was. While the other Maia's primary idea of torture seemed to involve beating Mai with every object imaginable (though he did let a couple of the elves occasionally take a turn), it still hurt. A lot. Mairon suspected several of his ribs were already broken, and his right arm was definitely bruised. And the pain from his head wound didn't help matters any, making things seem like they were coming from the other end of a long tunnel…

Mairon heard his captor suddenly scream, followed by a loud yowl. The Maia dimly registered he knew that yowl from someone, but his head was too fuzzy for him to open his eyes and see what was happening. Though he was desperately trying to stay conscious and understand what was going on, Mairon was losing the battle yet again. He'd noticed, each time he regained consciousness, he felt a little more detached from the situation at hand. This time, it almost felt like he was an observer to what was happening to his own fana. While torture was nothing new to him, he'd never felt this way before…

Some part of his mind told Mai he should be worried about this, but the Maia couldn't figure out why that was. He didn't mind this floating feeling; it lessened the pain from his physical wounds.

Suddenly, more shouting joined in the screams, but Mairon no longer cared. He didn't want to leave this floating feeling. Sinking deeper into it, the Maia welcomed the embrace of oblivion that greeted him...

The last thing he was aware of was a gentle hand touching his face. The touch was familiar, as was this new presence, though it took Mairon's pain-addled brain a few moments to place it. When he did, the Maia tried to reach out in return, but the pull of Oblivion was just too strong. Realising he couldn't fight it, no matter how desperate he was to return to his lord, Mairon took the last path available to him. Opening his mind, which until now he'd kept tightly closed to everyone, the Maia cried out for help to the one he trusted above all else. Then Oblivion claimed him, and he knew no more.

…

"She's nearby. These tracks can't be more than an hour or two old."

Oromë finished examining the ground as he spoke. Rising to his feet, the Huntsman gave Námo and Lómindil (who still accompanied his lord) a grim smile.

"It shouldn't take long to find her now. Tulcumbas, I need you to –"

Just what he needed his chief to do, none of them ever found out. At that precise moment, a blood-curdling scream reached them, following by an equally loud yowl of pure rage. It seemed to come from one of the cliffs on the other side of the meadow; Námo wasted no time thinking himself there. The others were only seconds behind, but even so, they still almost lost the Doomsman. Arriving at a very well-hidden hole in the cliff-face, Námo strode in, his expression and posture announcing Doom Had Come. Oromë took a second to alert Manwë of the latest developments, before looking at Roccondil.

"Wait for Manwë."

Oromë didn't bother to say anymore, all but running into the cave after the Doomsman. He didn't think Námo would actually send anyone to the Halls of Waiting (at least he hoped that wouldn't happen), but he needed to be a witness to whatever was about to go down.

Oromë navigated the twisting tunnel, cursing to himself at the delay. When the tunnel finally exited into a large cave, the Huntsman came upon a scene of utter confusion and chaos.

Námo strode into the cave radiating anger, to almost be knocked over. A tall Maia was stumbling around, cursing, trying vainly to pull what looked like a lump of mud off his head. The lump of mud was hissing and yowling in a most un-lump of mud type way and holding on for dear life, but Námo was already taking in the rest of the scene. He spotted Mairon right away. His Maia's fana was crumbled in one corner of the cave, surrounded by blood and other things, eyes closed. Námo couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. His copper hair was matted with blood and dirt, and his torso and head were lying in a pool of it.

Námo's countenance darkened even further, to the point one of the elves present fainted. Another two tried to flee, only to run headfirst into Oromë, who suddenly appeared in the entrance; knocking themselves out cold on his armoured torso. Not sparing the other Maiar and the elves more than a glance (even if they escaped, it would be easy to find them later) the Doomsman strode towards his Maia.

Stooping down next to Mairon, Námo rested a hand on his cheek, simultaneously checking his pulse. The Maia stirred at his touch, and the eldest Fëanturi felt his consciousness flicker, before both his fana and consciousness went deathly still. The Doomsman's own pulse sky-rocketed when he realised Mairon's pulse was very weak and thready, and getting weaker by the moment. He was so intent on Mairon, Námo started when Manwë suddenly spoke.

"Estë is on her way. Oromë and I will see to this lot." The King of the Valar gestured towards the front of the cave. "You concentrate on Mairon. He doesn't look so good."

Before Námo could respond, the Lump of Mud from before revealed itself to be Marta by appeared in front of him, mewing and nosing at Mairon in distress. Estë appeared moments later, gasping in horror at the sight to greet her. She wasted no time laying a hand on the back of Mairon's neck to get a reading on his state. Her expression grew grim as she read the signals his body was sending to his brain. Looking at Námo's questioning look, the Healer shook her head.

"It's not good. Írimawen!"

Seconds later, Estë's chief Maia appeared. She looked alarmed.

"My lady? What – " The Maia's words died out as she took in the scene. A look of horror overtook her fair features at seeing Mairon laying there, unmoving in a pool of blood. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the horror was gone, replaced with calm competence.

"What do you need?"

Estë rattled off a list, and Írimawen disappeared. Moments later she was back, with everything the Healer had requested. Placing them in a pile nearby, the Maia moved to stand next to her lady, ready to do whatever was needed. Looking at Námo grimly, Estë spoke.

"Can you hold him up? I need access to his head wound. It's the most serious."

Námo nodded. He and Estë carefully lifted Mairon's limp body up, until his back was facing the healer. Námo cradled the Maia to his chest as best he could, allowing Estë access to the injury. Estë gently placed her hands on Mairon's blood-socked hair to better understand what she was dealing with. Her lips grew thin.

*It is bad, brother. Very bad. If he were an incarnate, he would have since passed into your Halls. This level of damage…other Ainur would have since fled their fana.*

Námo's own lips thinned in response.

*He cannot do that with the way we've bound him.*

Estë's own expression was grim.

*No, he cannot. Which is why I need more help if I am to save his fëa from being irreparably damaged. Irmo!*

The younger Fëanturi instantly appeared. One look at the scene, and he wasted no time.

*What do you need me to do?*

Estë's expression was set.

*Mairon's fëa is in danger of being irreparably damaged, as it tries and fails to flee his fana. I need you to monitor it, while I work on healing his physical wounds.*

The Vala's eyes widened in shock, as he run a critical eye over Mairon.

*His fëa is already damaged. It's gone into shock, and is shutting down. Námo, you must reach out to him and keep him grounded! Only your bond with him can keep him from tipping over the edge he's dangerously close to. I'll support you, but you must do this! You need to keep him from slipping away before Estë can heal him.*

Námo's expression darkened, as he gently brushed a strand of matted hair out of his Maia's face. Mairon's eyes were closed, and his breathing was even more thready then it had been when the Vala first entered the cave. Though there was also a sense of calm about him that Námo knew hadn't been there before. Reaching out to gently brush against the shields protecting the Maia's mind, Námo spoke to him directly via Ósanwe, something he'd never done before. With the way Mairon's mind had been abused in the past, he'd carefully avoided doing anything that might have a negative association, always waiting for Mairon himself to establish a connection before communicating mentally.

However, right now, he didn't have much choice if he was to save his Maia from becoming even more damaged...

Pushing aside all the emotions that had been overwhelming him, he concentrated solely on his love and concern for the small being he cradled in his arms.

*Little One, where are you?*

Manwë ran a critical eye over the prisoners as Oromë, Tulcumbas, Roccondil and Lómindil finished securing them, ensuring no one was going anywhere. Nehtartúra was livid, his skin almost purple in anger. Though, that could have something to do with the bruising as well. Bleeding gashes cover his face, head and neck, and the swelling all around the gashes was somewhat spectacular. Marta had sharp claws, and knew how to use them. The Maia's eyes were especially a mess (Manwë didn't know how he could out of them at present), though it didn't seem to be worrying him. Nehtartúra was still cursing existence, trying to glare bloody murder at everyone. An action which wasn't very effective when you could barely see his eyes.

Eventually, Manwë grew tired of the curses, waving his hand. Immediately, Nehtartúra stopped talking, and his anger increased when he found he couldn't even open his mouth. However, Manwë had since lost interest in him, focusing on the group in the corner of the cave. He couldn't get close enough to see exactly what was happening, but knew Mairon was in a bad way. However, he also knew he couldn't do anything to help. This was not his area of expertise. All he could do was help Oromë secure the prisoners like the Hunter had asked him to, and take them somewhere safe until they had time to figure out what had happened, and probably hold yet another Trial. Manwë was still shocked and horrified to realise the elves were involved in this too. The presence of both Sámotára (who until fairly recently had served him), and the other Maia he didn't recognise, saddened him even further.

That made four Maiar involved in this so far. Four Maiar prepared to attack and harm their own people. And the fact Nehtartúra went and got the elves involved…

Manwë gave a heavy internal sigh.

The consequences for this were going to be heavy.

"Manwë. What do you want done with this lot?"

Oromë, having finished tying all the prisoners up to his satisfaction, now looked expectantly at his King for direction. Pulling his mind back from thinking about how he was supposed to sort this one out, Manwë focused on answering the Huntsman's question.

"For now, my mansion in Valmar will do. I will set my best warriors to guard them, until we have time to decide how to best deal with this." Manwë gave the elves especially a cold look. By now, they were all conscious. "And I have no doubt Námo will contribute some of his own guards as well in addition to Lómindil. You really should not have targeted one of his people."

One of the elves, who had either more courage or more stupidity then the others, suddenly went deathly pale.

"What do you mean, one of his people? Sauron is part of no one's people! He –"

The look Manwë gave him caused the elf to suddenly stop talking with a moan. Raking his icy gaze over them all, the Vala smiled grimly.

"It seems you were misled. Mairon is counted among Lord Námo Mandos' people. My brother Vala takes a dim view of any whom threaten his children. And you did slightly more than threaten, if Mairon's current state is anything to go by."

All the elves went ghostly white at hearing that. Manwë gave a grim smile. The fell light emitting from his Being in that moment was enough to cause even Nehtartúra to pale considerably, and the sight caused every single elf to lose consciousness, their fëar not able to handle anymore.

With a single thought, Manwë summoned several of his Maiar to him, silently instructing them on what to do next. None of them questioned his orders, though Nornoros and Fionwë did cast lingering looks at the corner where Irmo, Estë and Námo were. However, they were quick to disappear with the prisoners. Oromë went with them to ensure all went as planned, as did Lómindil. That Maia was not happy at all, stalking around the prisoners, hand resting lightly on his sword pummel. Once only Manwë remained, the Elder King was able to turn his full attention to those seeing to Mairon.

One look at their grim expressions told the Elder King this wasn't good. Not wanting to distract Námo, Irmo or Estë from their work, Manwë reached out with his power to find out how things were going. However, he was waylaid before he could get far by Estë. Without even asking permission, the Healer latched onto his power with a deathly determination. Manwë was shocked to realise her power levels were very low. Instantly offering her access to his own reserve of power, Manwë gave up on trying to find out exactly what was wrong with Mairon.

That Estë had used up so much of her power in healing him spoke volumes. Even with her chief Maia helping, the Valië was using a lot more power than Manwë had ever seen her use before when healing anyone. Her hands and entire arms glowed gold, her eyes unfocused, as she worked on transferring healing energy to Mairon's fana.

Opposite them, Manwë noted Námo's eyes were also vacant, his expression unmasked. Irmo's eyes were closed; he wore a look of intense concentration. Manwë could see the thin tendril of power connecting him to Námo, like how his power was supporting Estë. Írimawen was also supporting her lady, but Manwë convinced her she'd done enough. Easing up her connection with Estë, the Maia swaying in fatigue, almost collapsing. The Elder King guided her to sit down nearby, before returning to the Healer's side.

While he wasn't sure exactly what they were doing, he knew his power was needed to achieve it.

A/N Thank you everyone for your feedback! Knowing people are enjoying this and want more is really pushing me to keep at it. Here's another chapter as promised! And another cliffhanger. Not sorry. I'll post another chapter tomorrow so you won't be biting nails for too long.