Satarno. A memory resurfaced in his subconscious, lured out of hiding by the mention of that name.

Mairon was back in the earliest workshop in Arda, working intently to create metals in a fire. He briefly walked away to wipe off his hands, and when he turned around, there was another smith standing on the other side of the furnace. The front of his brown hair was pulled back into braided tresses and the colorful designs on his tunic glowed in the firelight. He touched the brim and leaned over to look, flames reaching up his arms.

He must not have noticed him standing in the shadows. Mairon raised an eyebrow and leaned on one hip, making himself more visible. "Trying to copy?"

The voice startled the other Maia, who immediately backed up. He raised his eyes and smirked in response. "Aulë was right. You are a talented smith."

"Yes, of course he was."

"You're also very cocky. He was right about that, too."

Mairon frowned. "And who are you, that he tells all this to?"

"You need not be jealous. I'm just a lowly assistant. Master Aulë ordered me to check on your progress." He held out his hand. "I'm Satarno."

Mairon had already returned to his work, leaning over the furnace again. "Hmm."

The other Maia seemed unsure what to say next, but he didn't give him a chance. He directed his attention on him again. "Your name does not suggest that you are a lowly servant."

Satarno smiled, impressed. "Perhaps. Anyway, I have other duties to complete. It was pleasant to meet you, Mairon."

He was lying, of course. He was Aulë's personal assistant. The Maia was always trailing one step behind the master smith from then on. It became normal to see him just as much as Aulë.

But the Maia kept lingering by Mairon, and he was friendlier to him than any of the other Maiar. Soon Mairon ceased to be suspicious of the other's intentions, allowing him to peruse his workshop freely. Satarno would ask him questions, silently listening to his ideas without judgement.

He spent a lot of his time in Mairon's company. On one occasion, Aulë had shouted for his assistant and then appeared in the doorway with Yavanna, wearing an exuberant expression when he found them.

"Look at that, my two protégés always working together! Truly, I have been given the best of the Maiar."

Yavanna laughed. "I'm afraid that's debatable, my lord."

"The greatest Maiar are smiths, my lady. I don't know how many times we shall need to have this discussion," he answered her as their voices drifted off down the hall.

The spring of Arda did not last, much to everyone's dismay but to no one's surprise. The works of the Valar were once again compromised by Melkor's own plans for Arda. The green pastures of Yavanna were replaced by dry plains, delicate flowers by dark, creeping vines. The sky burned for days on end.

They hid from the effects of malice, concentrating on their works instead. If the doors and windows were shut, if the sounds of the world moving under their feet were blocked out, it was easy to imagine everything was still the way it had been.

Mairon and Satarno sat in one of the archives of Aulë's Halls, a single window open to let in a breeze, smoky though it was. The golden titles of books glowed in the light of the waves of colorful spells hovering in the air. Countless texts and symbols depicted the earliest of lore.

They talked to each other occasionally, whenever they found a topic of interest in their books. Otherwise they sat in mutual silence, broken only by the chaos raging outside.

Then Satarno looked away from the page he'd been reading to stare out the window. The night was dark, but red and orange streaks of fire flashed every so often to illuminate the broken landscape. The wind was strong and violent, shaking the walls around them.

"Do you ever wonder…?" the Maia started. His voice was initially audible, but drifted off before he could finish his question.

Mairon waited, but when no more words came, he glanced up. "Do I ever wonder what?"

Satarno was still staring out the window, apparently lost in thought. He did not respond.

Mairon shut his book and stood. "Satarno?"

He started to approach him. When he was close, he could see the Maia was fixed intently on something outside, something that wasn't visible to him. He reached out to shake his shoulder.

"Satarno!"

The Maia flinched, breaking free of his trance. "What?" he demanded, suddenly irritable.

"What's wrong with you?" Mairon asked him.

"Nothing, why do you ask?"

"You did not answer me."

"I must have dozed."

Eyeing him uncertainly, and with some concern, Mairon returned to his seat. He made little of it then, but later it seemed obvious enough that he blamed himself for not noticing sooner.

It was after a direct attack by Melkor on Almaren that they did not dare step outside for days afterward. The constant sounds of war and cries from both sides were deafening. No music or song could drown it out. The waves in the sea violently rocked the land, structures toppled down and burst into flame. Ash filled the air.

When the noise finally quieted, and Almaren was reduced to rubble, the Ainur emerged to walk around and view the desolation. At once, Aulë ordered for the rebuilding of all that had been levelled in the chaos. The Maiar broke off into their separate domains to begin repairing them.

The main workshops had been protected, so they were still standing for Aulë's Maiar to use. When Mairon arrived, they were already hard at work.

He paused once he walked in, scanning the faces that surrounded him.

"Where is Satarno?"

He immediately regretted asking. The Maiar stopped what they were doing and slowly turned to look at him, glancing at one another and not speaking. He stared at everyone in the room for an explanation, but they were all the same- standing frozen with sad and uncomfortable expressions, communicating whatever they knew with just their eyes.

Aulë was the only one to move. The head smith shook his head in response, refusing to look at him, and promptly left the room. Aulë always responded the same to the loss of his Maiar— he hid away in isolation for days, sometimes weeks, and then joined everyone again without explanation and pretending nothing had even happened.

How long will he mourn for me? part of him whispered against his will. Days? Weeks? Does he even still remember me, or will I be forgotten too?

He remembered being quite saddened by the Maia's absence. For several weeks, people came up to him and offered their sympathies, until he grew tired of being treated like a victim and forced himself to forget about it. The new buildings that arose during reconstruction were pounded in with angry hammer strokes.

The emotion in his memories was strong as it came pouring out from the closed door that contained it. His eyes had gotten wet as he relived them, and he felt a pang of guilt. He should have recognized him. At least now he knew why the other Maia was familiar to him, and why he had forgotten. The old resentment that accompanied the memory finally lessened. How he could he hold a grudge against his former friend for deserting them, when he had done the same?

How pathetic you are, he told himself. You are letting Manwë's senseless empathy poison your thoughts.

The world was harsh and unjust. Better to go along with it than be disappointed by false hope.

At any matter, he would not let the other Maia know he remembered him. His sadness and anger had turned into guilt, then an empty disassociation in which he felt nothing at all, and from there to a proud pleasure in the fact that he had not recognized the Maia after all.


He went about without speaking a word to any of the Maiar, although they erupted into whispers every time he came into their presence. Good things and bad they spoke about him, but he didn't care either way. His only company was the hordes of creatures under his command, yet that interaction only consisted of giving orders and reprimanding them when they failed to obey. Part of him started to hope Melkor would request him again, just so he would have a higher being to converse with.

Much of his time was spent digging tunnels and building the foundations for halls, but when he did get a chance to step outside, he observed many servants of Melkor frequently go back and forth, from the fortress to the lower lands and back again. Mairon deduced they must be spies or messengers of some sort, reporting to Melkor with the state of affairs in Beleriand. His curiosity was piqued, for he too desired to hear what they learned, but his first encounter with those creatures had not been very pleasant. The other Maiar referred to the strange wolf hybrids as Wargs, and he was tempted to keep his distance from them.

But even in the darkness of the mountain halls, change was happening. It soon came to Mairon's attention that new creatures were appearing and merging into his workforce, as if they were being placed there purposely and gradually over time, in such a way that he would not take notice. He did, of course, take notice—he had a list of every servant, after all. Their eyes were squinted and their movements somewhat hobbled, as if their bodies were not entirely in proportion. Somehow, they were familiar to him, but he had little time to focus on his nagging suspicions and made immediate use of them.

In the beginning Mairon was regarded warily, as they seemed unsure where they were and why they had to work with him. But reluctance eventually turned into eagerness to learn. They picked up skills well enough, although a lot longer than it would have taken Elves. They had never beheld his skill before and deemed it magic of some sort, but there were some with an affinity towards it, much to Mairon's satisfaction.

His greatest relief was their overall group mentality. If he instructed one, the teaching would spread quickly throughout their numbers until the creatures in every tunnel had learned it.

But they possessed two major drawbacks: when they weren't grappling at each other's throats, their mortal bodies required sleep, and he was forced to take this into consideration. As for their constant conflict, it made him weary, and he did his best to address it. Every issue surfaced in a brawl, from petty arguments to deciding who had the most authority.

Just when he was used to having them around, there occurred a sharp decline in their numbers. As their arrival had been gradual, so was their disappearance. This time, it was their presence on the lists but their absence in front of him that caught his attention.

Melkor's long silence was finally broken one day, with little forewarning. Mairon was leaving one of the caves in the mountain chain to cross over to another, when a deep rumbling coursed underground and threatened to knock him off his feet. As if sensing his presence there, the surge moved away and back into the heart of the mountain.

For a short while he stood and cautiously observed, but seeing that the turmoil gave no indication of starting again, he entered one of the nearly-finished tunnels.

A gathering of orcs had moved away from the walls and were eyeing them nervously.

"Do we keep working, Master Mairon?"

"Yes." He looked them over and frowned, noticing the lack of deformed faces. "Were there not more of you before?"

He watched them glance involuntarily in the direction of the deeper regions of the mountain.

"The fire shadows," one said quietly, as if afraid he might be overheard.

"Balrogs?" Mairon repeated louder with no consideration.

The orcs retreated further away after giving him a swift nod.

So, Balrogs were taking his workers. Before he could decide what to do about that, however, another tremor much stronger than the first suddenly coursed over their heads, sending most of the tunnel's inhabitants crashing into the walls or into one another. Mairon managed to maintain his balance, if hardly.

"Get out," he ordered. "Now!"

They did not need to be told, scampering out of the wreckage and leaving Mairon to issue out the others. Some were already tearing past him to get to the exits, along with the other Maiar. But he went on, shouting for the tunnels to be cleared out, and only after they had been emptied did he himself appear out of the mountain.

The scene outside was unorganized chaos. Orcs lay on the ground, on each other, under boulders from landslides. A chasm was beginning to split open from the cracks in the surface and molten lava glowed underneath. The ground was extremely unsteady, continuing to shake and buckle, and tossing orcs around so much that it was impossible to tell which ones were dead or alive.

The Maiar were staying near a fortified wall, where it was safe, and watched helplessly. They shouted to Mairon when he appeared out in the open, for he was going straight to a group of fallen orcs where the earth spasms were strongest.

He picked through the pile and shook them awake, forced them to stand and helped them cross over to the front of the fortress. When he returned to retrieve the rest, a boulder fell from the top of the mountain and slammed into the chasm, forcing him to jump back.

"What are you doing?!" the Maiar called out, over the cracking of the earth and the hiss of steam. "Let them die!"

He looked over his shoulder to where they stood waiting. He could have asked them the same, for would they not be reprimanded if Melkor knew they left his servants to die? Yes, they were quite stupid, but Melkor surely had some purpose for them.

The Maia backed up several steps, and then ran forward to leap over the widening chasm. He crouched briefly after landing on the opposite stretch of land, and he made his way up to the orcs cowering on the floor, shielding their eyes from the glaring heat.

He ushered them up the slopes crumbling under their feet, and in their frantic haste they kept slipping.

"Go, go, hurry!" he prompted, climbing after the orcs and pushing them forward each time they fell back. Once they reached the top, a few of the Maiar reached over to help them.

Mairon joined their ranks on the ledge, blackened by ash. The Maiar glanced at him and one muttered, "He does this for attention", but he ignored it.

The deafening roar overhead persisted, and the sound was agony. At last it subsided to a constant yet duller clamor, and the currents underground became vibrations. Still no one moved, and the crowd of orcs waited in disquiet.

Hours passed until the earth was safe enough to walk on. The Maiar rounded up the orcs and appointed captains to watch over them, while the rest trekked down broken halls, stars peeking in through open patches of ceiling, to Melkor's lowest throne room to discover what the Vala's purpose had been for causing such an upheaval.

They clustered around once they were inside, pushing against each other to see the renovated chambers. If his throne room had been grand before, it was exceptionally large now, and the Elf lords in Beleriand would have desired such a space if it had not been so gloomy and Melkor's.

The Vala listened to the questions directed at him, but his responses were "Everything has been improved upon now" and "You should not doubt your master, it is my fortress."

Mairon came forth to the front, and Melkor raised his eyebrows when he took in his appearance. "You look like a mountain has fallen on you, Mairon."

The Maia tried to wipe the ash from his face. "What was your intention, my lord? Our work has been destroyed for the most part. The ceilings have crashed into the halls, the very foundations have been broken."

Melkor waved a hand, unbothered. "We will just need to begin anew."

Mairon blinked. "Begin again?"

"Yes. I did not like some things, so I fixed them. Now it is suitable. Your work can build on mine as a reference."

He took a deep breath and turned away, fuming. It did not help that the heat in this room was intense. He moved off to the edge of the crowd and tried to calm himself, exhausted from his earlier exploits.

"And how are my orcs?" Melkor asked, it being his turn to interrogate the captains. "Have they adapted well?"

"They were almost perished by the shaking of the earth, my lord, but Mairon prevented their demise," a voice answered. Mairon looked for its source and found Satarno on the other end of the room, staring at him.

Melkor's satisfied countenance fell on Mairon, but the latter squinted at Satarno, confused.

"Perhaps all of you would be half your worth if you acted like Mairon, instead of running around with your hands in the air like you always tend to do," Melkor chided them.

The crowd of Maiar shot him glares while they walked past him to depart, and he purposely avoided Satarno's attempt at a friendly glance, pretending not to notice.


It took hours to rewrite the blueprints, and after that compose new lists of building materials. His shoulders and back ached from leaning over to write for so long. He sent the orcs away to recuperate before they were needed to labor again. The rest of the servants had been sent off to repair whatever could be salvaged from the rubble. The roof of the great hall was currently being patched up.

Satarno eventually arrived to bring him the said supplies, and the Maia accepted them without a word.

He lingered, watching him silently for a few minutes.

"I'll venture a guess that you must remember me, and that would explain your sudden coldness," he spoke up.

The Maia did not answer. Satarno remained where he was regardless. "But you must understand now why I left."

"You could have told me, instead of leaving me to figure it out," Mairon responded quietly, continuing to write without interruption.

Satarno stared thoughtfully at his turned back. "Really? I doubt that. I considered it, of course, and decided you would not understand. But I knew eventually your curiosity would bring you here. And I was right."

"Did you now?" the Maia answered sarcastically, finally raising his eyes. They looked at each without speaking, until Mairon sighed and faced him directly.

Sartano took a step forward and held out his hand in a gesture of peace. "I am sorry. Will you forgive me?"

He stared at the hand being offered and glanced uncertainly at the Maia. Then he rolled his eyes and reached out, clasping the strong arm with his own.