A/N: I've added my own names into this chapter for the first time, so not to confuse anyone: they are OC's.

There wasn't any light to keep track of time, much as it had been in the very beginning of Eä. The stars made the days appear constant and unchanging. The only entities keeping track of it were those who chose to.

Left to his own devices and his newly granted authority, Mairon started devising lists of things to keep track of—servants, tools, supplies. Calculating the number of days became included as an aside.

A brief period of time had passed before he was approached again by the former Maia of Oromë, named Taryamo. He was not alone, but always with some of his own people. They seemed to be his attendants.

He wore a helm over his copper-colored hair and was outfitted in the leather protective gear used by hunters. His belt held a range of weapons individually crafted for a different purpose.

He actually smiled at him- or at least the closest thing to one. Even when he dwelt in Aman, he had rarely ever seen Taryamo smile.

The craftsman took note of all that without interrupting his work. The other Maia did not wait for his full attention. "Melkor requested that I take you with me. He's ordered that I go and hunt down his servants who remain in the forest land below here."

Mairon slowly looked up from his list and regarded him skeptically. He knew the other Maia could not expect him to believe that.

Indeed, he was still smiling, thereby giving away his pretense. "Melkor has ordered it. You cannot refuse."

He rolled his eyes. There were other high authorities here who clearly needed appeasing. It wouldn't hurt, he supposed, to learn the area better. And so he put away his materials and went over to where Taryamo waited with his entourage.

He was also accompanied by some foul creature, one that resembled a wolf but was much larger and much more fearsome. The pelt was white like those of Oromë's hunting dogs, but the eyes were black and void, as if no fëa resided within.

The beast growled and lowered its snout, taking a step forward, and would have advanced had Taryamo not pulled back on its leash.

Mairon took several steps back. "What is that?"

The other Maia did not reply. He held tightly to the leash and pulled himself up onto the creature, swinging his right leg over. He stared grimly down at Mairon.

"I have another, for you."

"No, thank you," he started to answer, but it was useless. A second beast, this one even less docile, was being dragged towards him. The team of Maiar leading it gratefully handed him the end of the leash, which he reluctantly gripped in both hands.

"Think of it as a gesture of my good will," Taryamo said, although he looked more amused than anything. "You will need a steed if you expect to accompany me."

His "steed" was gray-colored, but with the same dead, black eyes. It snarled and bit at the leather strap that served as a muzzle. He had to use most of his strength just to keep it from breaking free.

The others watched him, anticipating what he would do. Seeing as he was supposed to ride atop it, he slowly and cautiously approached the dire animal and gently touched its shoulder blade. It responded with a low, warning growl.

At this point he decided it was better just to get the whole ordeal over with. He sprang up on its back, holding to the leash as a sort of rein while the beast raged underneath him, snapping the muzzle and tossing its head around freely.

The Maiar quickly retreated to avoid the rabid animal. Only Taryamo remained where he was, watching with a calm expression.

The beast continued to panic and Mairon was struggling to keep himself on top. He dug into the other's fëa to attempt to console it, but it was like trying to communicate with a corpse. Nothing was there.

His grip was faltering. Soon he would lose whatever control he had. In vain he searched for some sign of life, the weakest source of consciousness to merge with. All his mind met was emptiness. An empty darkness that he was aimlessly stumbling through.

At long last, he felt it. The fëa reared up and attacked him as he came near, desperately trying to defend itself. But he pushed back even harder, cornering it into the recesses of the darkness and confronting it with his will.

The spasms finally ceased. Still cursing and sweating profusely, he sat up straight and fixed the tangled leash, watching the beast with wary suspicion. It was breathing heavily, drooling from its sharp fangs. Its posture was stiff. But at least it wasn't throwing him around any longer.

Taryamo gave a slight nod. "Ready?"


They rode across the plain, following an unseen path in the dark. There was nothing around for leagues but dirt and the distant mountains. The two Maiar traveled in mutual silence, only exchanging words when they had reached the wall of interlocking trees that marked the beginning of the forest, and Taryamo told Mairon where to enter.

The forest was devoid of light, and he would have gotten lost if he did not occasionally glimpse the bright fur of the other Maia's steed in front of him. Only when gaps in the trees permitted did stars shine down into the clearings.

Tall grass swayed against the legs of the beasts as they bounded over the forest floor. The trickling of a stream nearby and the warble of a bird in the trees were the only other noises, for their footsteps were silent. A sudden glint attracted his attention, where Taryamo was slowly drawing out his weapon. His whip he switched to his other hand, and he was searching the undergrowth with a watchful stare.

He was cheating to be challenging him at his own profession. But Mairon was not in a position to protest.

The other Maia raised his hand and gave some signal. Then he kicked the side of his steed and charged into the shadows under several enormous tree branches. Immediately the eerie quiet ceased, and a sharp cry pierced the air, followed by multiple responses echoing further throughout the forest.

Having little choice, Mairon set off after them. Up ahead, Taryamo was pursuing a group of creatures that ran on all fours but could jump and stand on two. They turned around, revealing white, luminescent eyes and bared their sharp teeth. Riding alongside them, the hunter was picking them off one by one, swiftly binding them in strong nets and tossing his captives behind him.

It was impressive. Taryamo never seemed to tire, only becoming more energized by the chase. His beast appeared to partake in the hunt with just as much vigor- it never needed to be told or directed where to go, but acted in sync.

He was drawn back to the present once the white beast came galloping at full speed in his direction. Taryamo was waving his whip and shouting to him with urgency.

He threw him a net. "Mairon! Don't let it get away!"

The Maia turned. One of those ghastly creatures was scampering through the bushes, and as he was searching around for it, the creature jumped up and batted its claws at his face. He ducked in time, grabbing the creature by the neck and holding it up away from him just as Taryamo came over and snatched it. He tied it up and added it the collection hanging from his belt like saddlebags.

"Good, thanks," he said, slightly out of breath. "Now try to keep up this time."

The hunter and his mount took off again, leaving him in the dust before he had time to blink. Grumbling a little, Mairon sought to catch up. More disturbing creatures that resembled crosses between animals and other things were found by Taryamo, hiding in the darkest places of the forest, and fled at his approach. He tirelessly hunted each of them down, taking his job with the utmost seriousness.

At last they emerged back onto the plain, leaves in their hair and clothes covered in dirt. The bounty was so great that Taryamo had to divide some of his victims with Mairon, and they hung from the beasts and dragged against the ground.

Their beasts slowed once they arrived at the loading area. The Maiar waiting there for them eagerly approached and began to untie the captives, leading them towards the mountains where they would be put to work. Taryamo sat smugly and oversaw the transfer of so many of Melkor's prior servants being returned to him.

Many of the Maiar were looking at Mairon to see how he fared. He said nothing to them, dismounted his steed with relief and let them lead it back to wherever it came from. Content to have his feet on the ground again, he began cleaning himself up and returning to his duties.

Taryamo glanced his way. "And where do you think you're going?"

The Maia stopped and sighed, reluctantly glancing behind him. "I completed the task, did I not?"

"Not all of it. That was not the whole test."

"Alright, then what is the rest?"

A hint of a smile flickered across Taryamo's lips. He was staring towards the entrance, where one of Melkor's bodyguards stood in the doorway and watched over the servants pouring in. He held up a chain and swung it around in his fist. "Take him down."

Mairon followed his gaze. His eyes widened.

"Are you speaking seriously? What for?"

"To prove that you are stronger than a Balrog. How else can you show that you belong at the top, with us?"

Hearing his words, the Maiar began to crowd around in anticipation. Taryamo was still mounted on his hunting beast, and he commanded his steed forward. But he continued looking back with a patient expression.

Ignoring the myriad of hopeful faces staring at him, Mairon started walking after Taryamo. The other Maia lowered his hand, offering him the chain he carried. The rest of the Maiar tagged close behind.

When he saw them all headed towards him, the Balrog blew smoke out of his nose in disdain. Without hesitation he drew out his fiery whip in one hand, and his blade in the other. He took a step forward.

Taryamo remained beside him, studying the Balrog and calculating how to best approach. He glanced aside at Mairon, who stood with his eyes closed, swinging the heavy chain.

"I shouldn't help you, but a word of advice: go for the legs, and be nimble. They stumble quite easily."

"I don't believe I'll need it, but thank you for your concern."

Taryamo raised his eyebrows, but he shrugged and then walked backwards in reverse to merge with the growing crowd of spectators.

The Balrog grunted impatiently, flipping his sword with his right hand and digging at the dirt with his feet. The red colors in his eyes melted and blended like lava.

Mairon had his head lowered, carefully making a loop in the chain and adjusting the length. The crowd was hushed, with only a few whispering to each other.

Some of the recently captured slaves had noticed that there was no longer anyone watching the door, and took the opportunity to slip out, but nobody paid any attention.

Mairon readied himself directly in front of the Balrog, armed with the chain and nothing more. The latter sneered and brought down his whip. The Maia leapt to the side to avoid it, feeling the scorching heat and hearing the place he'd been standing sizzle from the impact. This time the whip tried to wrap around him, but he quickly ducked. The Balrog lunged with his sword facing him, and the Maia darted between his legs and escaped unharmed to the other side.

He brought his arm back and threw the chain as far as he could. The Balrog hit it with his elbow and heaved it onto the ground. The whip scorched his back as he jumped for it, tossing it over his shoulder once it was recovered and running for safety outside the Balrog's reach. He fixed the loop at the end and brought it back even further this time, and as it flew upward, the Balrog turned his head to miss it and in doing so unknowingly secured the chain around his neck.

Immediately Mairon ran towards him to grab onto the other end. The chain lifted higher as the Balrog struggled to remove it, and Mairon hung off the ground, trying to pull it back down. Kicking off from his opponent, he tugged on the chain hard enough to land on his feet and continued to yank it towards him. The Balrog was beginning to bend in that direction, but dug in his feet and put all his weight into the opposing force.

The chain gave, and the Maia was lifted again, swinging around the Balrog and pulling the latter's head forward, making it harder for him to see and attack with his sword. As he circled to the front, he looked down at the crowd. Embers from the fiery whip were hovering in front of their wide, attentive eyes. They sparked in the air, lighting up the otherwise dark sky. One of the spectators suddenly turned his head to the left, and Mairon followed his cue. He dropped to the bottom of the chain just as the Balrog's sword came and sliced through the metal.

He let go and fell to the ground, bouncing once or twice on impact before coming to rest on his side. He got to his feet again as the broken chain landed in the dust in front of him. The Maia picked it up and ran towards the Balrog again, pushing off with his foot against his opponent's knee and wrapping the chain around his neck. The Balrog stumbled forward and attempted to knock him off with his sword, but he swung around to the back and pressed the chain in harder.

Now his opponent was stumbling backward, so Mairon released his hold and brought the chain around his legs instead, and sent him a kick from behind. The Balrog toppled back and forth, and before falling let out a roar and reached out his arms, as flames ignited over his cape.

He crashed into the ground a moment later. Mairon didn't hear it. He dropped the chain from his bloodied hands and rubbed the feeling into them again, staring at the body of the Balrog without expression.

The crowd was silent for a time afterwards. The flames flickered and spread from the Balrog, reaching out to the plain beyond. He growled lowly, too pained to move. Ash and soot fell from the sky.

"Wow," someone said at last.

Footsteps disrupted the silence as Mairon walked around to the head of the fallen Balrog. He stared down at his face. "There is no enmity between us, yes?"

The Balrog scowled, and everyone backed up as he slowly picked himself up. He found his discarded sword and tucked it into its scabbard, and reached for his whip. As a final attack, he lashed out at the gathering of Maiar, who jumped away to avoid the burning whip.

"Quit bothering me with your trifles and find someone else to torment," he grumbled, turning to walk back to his post.

Most of the Maiar appeared pleased by the performance, but Taryamo's stare was stone-cold and distrustful. He glared as Mairon strode up to him.

The latter held out the broken chain. Taryamo glanced at it, but refused to take it.

"You act almost as if you did not expect me to succeed," Mairon told him.

"I did not," he said. "You are not a warrior, like Eönwë. People of Aulë are not natural fighters."

He studied him grimly, and perhaps, just a little bit fearfully. "I don't know what to make of you," he said finally. His gaze lingered on him for a bit longer, before turning his steed to depart.

The remaining Maiar came up to slap his back in congratulations, but he was stiff and sore as well as unsteady, and did not know what they were congratulating him for.


Mairon was busy checking off the tasks his laborers had completed when a presence approached, barely visible in his peripheral vision. It stood still for several minutes, apparently waiting patiently for him to regard it.

After this had continued for some time with no movement from either one, Mairon lifted his head and stared directly at the visitor. It was some spirit like a Maia perhaps, but the face was strange to look upon and the proportions odd as well. Its complexion was extremely pale and the eyes were small and resembled dark holes in a mask. The smile on its thin lips seemed to be fixed.

"Lord Melkor the Great requests you to come and see him," it said in a dry, emotionless voice. The smile trembled when it spoke.

Once it saw Mairon stand and mean to follow, the herald turned around and began walking to an entrance in the largest mountain. A long cape unfurled behind it with every long stride. Its attire was more pompous and elegant than any of the other servants he'd seen so far, and based on the way the lower servants froze and gave their full attention when it passed by, he deduced this was a very old and very respected attendant of Melkor.

They walked through grandiose halls that were still being fashioned and stopped at the lowest level, where the door to Melkor's throne chamber barred entry. The herald stood on the opposite side of the door and faced him.

It said nothing, but continued to smile at him while it raised a hand to push open the heavy doors. Then it bowed and departed from his presence.

The chamber was dark inside, lit by a single brazier that cast more shadows than it did light. At the far end, the great throne had grown in size since the last time he'd seen it, and the builder had made sure that it would dominate everything else around it. Carvings covered the walls, hidden by the ever-present shadows. Tall stone pillars reached up to the ceiling, if there were one, for it was not seen from the ground.

Melkor's face was half-darkened in the low light. The shadows flew back and forth every time he moved his head, changing their positions and avoiding the glow of the three Silmarils in his crown. Gothmog stood off to the side, perhaps acting as a guard, but otherwise he was alone.

Melkor clapped his hands as soon as he stepped into the room. "Here he is!" He jumped to his feet and stood at the edge of the dais. "I wish I had known of this, why wasn't I told? Why didn't anyone tell me? I would have enjoyed to watch!"

Mairon had knelt once he was close enough, but now he rose. He stared at Melkor and then at Gothmog, who looked annoyed and avoided his gaze. He remained silent while he waited for Melkor to explain why he was here.

Melkor sat down again, still laughing. He pointed to his captain. "You should fight Gothmog next!"

The Balrog's steel-set eyes glared fiercely at the Maia and he became uncomfortable.

"Is this all you have called me for, lord?"

Melkor's face instantly turned cold and his laughter ceased. "Impatient, aren't we?" He leaned back into his seat. "No. I also intended to ask what you thought."

The Maia waited for him to continue. He did not.

He tried to probe him further. "What I thought about…"

The Vala sighed, irritated. "It's blatantly obvious, Mairon. What you think about—" he waved his hand to gesture around the room, "—this."

"Your kingdom rivals those in the west, my lord," he answered, and Melkor glowed at the praise.

Gothmog muttered something like "kiss-up" under his breath, which he thought ironic, because the Balrog probably kissed-up the most of anyone here.

Melkor waved him away. "You may return now, but I shall request you again soon."

He bowed to the shadowy figure seated in the throne and hurried from the room, eager to be away from the two pairs of eyes bearing on him from behind.


He avoided the Maiar from then on, in case they wanted to challenge him to any more competitions and humiliate him before Melkor. But he never happened across Taryamo, as if the latter were trying to avoid him too.

It was nearly impossible not to encounter anyone, however. Occasionally their responsibilities coincided, especially with those whose skill sets were similar. But he preferred the company of his own people more so than the judging stares of the other Maiar.

While he was stationed in the area he'd chosen as his workplace, he noticed one of them, the Maia of Aulë who had expressed great interest in him before, come and set down a bundle of supplies next to him.

Mairon offered a smile. "Thank you."

The other Maia remained stern, giving a nod in response.

Mairon walked up to him to prevent him from leaving. "How do I know you?" he asked, leaning closer to study his face. The Maia gave him a quizzical, amused look, and Mairon quickly said, "Besides being of the same house."

The other Maia shrugged. "It's been too long for you to remember me, I suppose."

"When did you leave Aman? And why?" He added in the last question out of curiosity.

"For the same reason you did," he answered. He glanced behind him briefly, and then met his eyes. "It called my name."

Leaving him to reflect on that, the Maia walked around to look at the pages of parchment spread out on the table. He glanced over the long lines of writing. "They did always call you Meticulous Mairon."

Mairon squinted at him under lowered eyebrows and tried to locate him in memory.

The other Maia turned back and stood across from him, bringing his hand to his chest. "Satarno," he introduced, giving his name. He went to move forward, and Mairon stepped aside to let him pass.

"Tell me if you need any more iron. I'm often at one of the quarries," he called as he was leaving. "Oh, and by the way, try not to entertain the other Maiar so much. They will only require more from you."

His retreating figure followed a road leading around a bend in the mountain, where the quarries had been dug. The din of pickaxes sometimes carried on the howling winds that swept through the region. They were distinguishable now, shaking the rocks and repeating in intermittent sets of pounding and clanging.

Out on the plain, the low, dark shapes of several wolves crept into Beleriand. It was not possible from the distance to tell if they bore riders, but there was some group collaboration, surely. He watched from afar until they gradually vanished into the dark.