A/N: If you've read Lost Tales, you might be able to guess who the elf in this chapter is. He will be more important later on.

Two Maiar sat beside a fire on the edge of a cliff, in view of the Helcaraxë in the distance. Fog drifted up in shapes of clouds from the ice-covered sea. Strong winds continuously blew from that direction.

Faint lights twinkled on the opposite side, towards Beleriand, perhaps from elves or spirits from Aman. Darkness spread across the land like a blanket, nestled among the sides of the mountains and tucked in between the rivers and forests. The stars overhead were blurred out by the smoke of the fire.

Mairon held out his hands to the flame to warm them, cross-legged on the ground. Shadows flickered across his illuminated face. Across from him, Satarno sat on a ledge, tossing sticks into the fire.

"How is it in Valinor?" he asked quietly.

"The same as it was in Almaren. What have you been told?"

"Melkor has claimed the Elves there were fain of worshiping him, and so the Valar angrily drove him out. The gems he was given as a gift from their hands."

Mairon frowned thoughtfully, staring off elsewhere.

"Is it not true, then?"

"I suppose so, with some tweaking and mending."

Satarno laughed. "Yes. There are three sides to every story- and one of them is Melkor's."

"And how do you fare here?"

The other Maia's expression turned serious. "It is not easy. Especially in the years in which the Vala was away. Bereft of his direction for too long, I think, his kingdom would fall into ruin. But if anything, it toughens you. Makes you harder."

"And you can tolerate the other Maiar?"

"For the most part." Satarno stared at him through the fire, and several scars became visible on his face. "They had years of jealousy and resentment towards you in the past, and now it's resurfaced with a vengeance. Taryamo was respected back then and he still is now. His authority is unquestioned. But, the Maiar are also in awe of you and hold you in high regard. The only way to strengthen your position is to confront him."

"Confront him? How does one confront another who is constantly surrounded by Wargs and loyal attendants?"

"That is where you may require assistance."

"You are the only one whom I dare trust. It is still a risk, though. We are vastly outnumbered."

"It may seem that way," he said, nodding. "But most can be quite easily persuaded. You will find that other Maiar from Aulë's house are partial to you."

Mairon turned it over in his mind. "I will think about this. That is all I can say for now."

"Yes, it is best not to be too hasty. In the meantime he shall be kept from all knowledge of this." Satarno held out his hand, as if to arrange a deal.

The Maia was unsure if that really meant anything anymore, but acquiesced nonetheless.


When time had passed, and no sign of his missing orcs came, Mairon decided to investigate himself. He knew the areas that the Balrogs frequented, and followed their traces to the southernmost of the fortress. The gate that Melkor had designed was practically complete, its prioritization enabling a rapid repair after the damage wrought by the earthquakes.

He waited while the gate was drawn open for him on its mighty iron hinges, only choosing to step through once the doors had been opened to their full extent. Glancing at the top of the structure, he shouted up to the orcs, and seconds later it began to close behind him.

His attention turned to the scattered, disorganized hosts of Melkor positioned on the plains outside, and it perturbed him. Their eyes were glazed over, only half-conscious of their surroundings. He strolled past a group of them eating the flesh of one of their dead comrades and grimaced.

But he did not stop until he reached a passage into the mountains and ducked behind an outcropping close by, keeping careful watch of the entrance. Indeed, he recognized many of the orcs as once belonging to him, including their general, and hoped this would make his plan easier.

At least an hour passed and his muscles started to ache, but eventually his patience paid off. They first appeared as faint flickers of fire from a distance, growing in size and intensity until they burned directly in front of him. The Balrogs carried heavy burdens over their shoulders and a team of orcs armed with weapons accompanied them.

The head Balrog in the front happened to be, of course, Gothmog. He shifted the bundle of limp bodies to his other shoulder and muttered something to the general waiting there. Suddenly, he turned his massive head to the side and started sniffing around him. He took a step in Mairon's direction.

The Maia quickly moved out of sight, flattening against the wall.

Gothmog's deep voice spoke, "That's just gross. Don't let them dispose of the dead in such a manner."

"Yes, sir," the orc general answered.

When the Maia peered over again, the rest of the Balrogs were following Gothmog into the mountain, the general standing stiffly as they passed by him.

He waited until they had been gone for a time, and then came out of hiding, pretending to have come from a different direction when he approached the general.
"Lord Melkor requires use of your soldiers."

The orc squinted at him. "You will lead them?"

"Yes."

He still appeared unsure, his gaze lingering towards the opening in the mountainside, where flames occasionally lit up the shadows within. Mairon looked as well, but when the other turned back around, he made sure to meet his gaze.

"Where do they typically go?" he asked unassumingly.

The orc pointed off into the east. "Past the mountains yonder."

He had never been that way, and could not rely on the orcs to remember; they had a terrible sense of direction. On some occasions they had tried to run away, and after the first several times of tracking them down in the wild he found it easier to simply wait until they crawled back, dying from starvation.

To his relief, the orcs still had memory of him, and did not hesitate much to follow his orders- especially since he had a very faint idea of what he was doing. The orcs who had gone with the Balrogs carried weapons, so he armed his likewise with swords and crossbows.

They waited for him to take one as well.

"Won't you need a weapon, my lord?" one of them asked.

Mairon gave a quick shake of his head. "Are you doubting my powers?"

"Sorry," he muttered, stepping in line with the other orcs.

They set off in this way. It was not long before he discovered that they often struggled to keep up with his pace, and he was forced to wait on them at frequent intervals. The cold intensified as they neared the chain that had once been the Blue Mountains, causing their joints to stiffen and slowing them down even further.

Why did Melkor rely so heavily on servants not even immune to his own elements? he wondered.

A flurry of snow descended from the mountain peaks and covered his traveling party, temporarily blinding them. The orcs in the frontline bumped into each other, holding the others back. They began to aggressively shove another out of the way.

Mairon reluctantly turned aside again. "Hurry it up!"

He knew that once the violence began, it was difficult to subdue. Mairon walked back, approaching the two chief instigators and forced both apart. They fell down in the snow and did not move for a few seconds, immobilized by the cold.

His expression became spiteful. "Get up."

The fallen orcs got to their feet and pressed into the line, away from his stare. The ones behind them stepped even farther back to accommodate them.

The hostility slowly faded from his features, and they became stern again. "Keep moving."

A trail of smoke above the trees gave away the position of the Elven inhabitants occupying the area. The orcs paused on the threshold of the forest and waited for the spy who had gone in ahead of them to return.

"There is a village isolated from the others," he reported, appearing out of the trees and into the open. "Their weapons are few."

"Lead us there," Mairon ordered.

The orcs moved on again, but he hung back to better observe his surroundings. It was in this way that his senses detected something hiding in the shadows. An elf, but not one he was accustomed to. He seemed to think himself hidden well, with all of his attention focused on the line of armed orcs passing by.

So he remained oblivious to Mairon, even when he stood directly behind him.

"Hello," he greeted, turning the face up to his and studying it with curiosity. There was no light of Aman in his features; they were dark and somewhat savage, but possessed strength and valor nonetheless.

The elf did not respond or even move, but something like hopelessness filled his dark eyes.

Mairon nodded to the clearing not far from where they stood. "Is that your village?"

He received no response.

"I suppose so." He tucked the elf under his arm and intended to carry him there, but then the fighting ensued. The slender creature tried to slip out of his grip and when that failed, resorted to kicking and thrashing.

Mairon strengthened his grip, earning a yelp of pain from his captive. "Please do not attempt that. I was not planning on harming you, but you may be able to change my mind."

The cold eyes gleamed viciously at their oppressor with every step that he took. They were so unnerving that he forced himself to stare straight ahead and try to block them from his mind.

But when his captive unexpectedly uttered a curse to the Valar, he glanced down in surprise. "You do know something."

The only answer he received was a fixed expression of hatred that left no mystery in his mind as to the origin of orcs. He placed a hand over his captive's mouth upon nearing the army waiting anxiously on the edge of the clearing for his instruction.

"What do you command?" they asked.

"Capture those capable of labor."

Sharp teeth pierced through his gloves and into his skin. Mairon quickly switched arms, using his other to disable his captive, and adjusted the slumped figure over his shoulder.

"No one escapes," he added.

The orcs advanced in on the unsuspecting inhabitants. Mairon wandered away from the raiding he had no desire to partake in until the screams of mutilated victims were but far-off echoes.

The nearest encampment of Elves was a great distance away, its signal fire merely a pale wisp of smoke consumed by the blanket of darkness overhead. But farther still, he could discern the smooth surface of a sea. Such was its vastness that the stars themselves seemed to be contained under its waters.

For some time he stood still and thoughtful under the eaves of the silent, watchful trees. Branches and limbs creaked despite the absence of a breeze, and they seemed to be giving off a mix of emotions regarding him and the unconscious creature in his grasp.

He wandered away from them, closer to the foot of the mountains. In a half-hidden area, between two steep slopes, he spied what appeared to be an abandoned settlement. It was in actuality a gravesite, perhaps from earlier orc raids. All that remained now was a pile of stained weaponry and various tools.

Mairon went to study them, setting the elf on the ground beside him. The latter stirred ever so slightly, barely opening his eyelids yet carefully observing his captor. One of his hands crept down to grab hold of a knife.

Mairon studied the tools in his hand. They were not of the blunt, crude kind he expected to find, but displayed intelligent workmanship. He got off his knees and back on his feet seconds before his captive lunged forward with a knife.

His left foot slammed into his attacker, pinning him down on the chest. The elf struggled to breathe with the weight on his lungs, and the knife slipped from his grasp. He looked on Mairon with great fear.

"I admire your persistence. Does this area mean anything to you?" the Maia questioned, indicating to the grave mounds.

Fear turned to spite. "Your savage creatures brutally slaughtered my kin here," he answered, sucking in mouthfuls of air.

The Maia lifted his foot a fraction so he could speak. "And your kin, they made these weapons?"

The elf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"

"Curiosity."

He laughed scornfully, erupting into coughs. "How bold you are! All of you callous beings who call yourself gods! Are we play-things to you, that you can interfere whenever and however you wish?"

Mairon understood not the full meaning of his words, but the way they were spoken made him smile. The same temper he had known in the Noldor was present there, in the very prototype of the firstborn.

He was still going. "Curiosity? Now you are curious? Perhaps there might be more to see, had most of it not been already destroyed. I prefer you should kill me, or drag me off with the rest of my kindred, than bring me out here and ask questions because you are suddenly interested-"

Without a response to those fiery words, Mairon turned around and began walking away. The elf sprang to his feet and stared after him.

"Where do you think you are going?" he yelled.

"I am granting you your freedom."

"After taking everything from me?! How considerate!"

"-But I expect that you prove more productive in freedom than in servitude, or I will have to interfere again."

"You do not control me! Nor am I afraid of your savage creatures!"

Mairon stopped and glanced back to see him still standing there, arms crossed in a stance of defiance, almost trembling with rage.

"It is your own kin."

The elf slowly shook his head. "What is?"

"Those 'savage creatures'."

He did not look back again, to see the contempt reemerge with a vengeance in those dark, haunted features. He kept walking until he returned to his orcs waiting in the clearing, where a village had been reduced to ruins and the survivors constrained and bound.

He nodded, acknowledging their success. "None escaped?"

The orcs shook their heads, but all of them glanced openly at Mairon's shoulder and then past him, searching for something.

"None, they are all here," they answered.

Mairon only nodded again. "Good."

It was not important that they know his purposes; and although some of them studied him warily, they must have eventually assumed that he had done something terrible to his victim and made nothing of it.

They had to wait while he went around and searched the surrounding area. By the time he returned, the captives were still putting up a fight and making it difficult for the orcs to hold still.

Mairon gave them no forewarning before walking swiftly out from the trees and waving a lazy hand in their direction. The forest became utterly silent again, excluding the grunts from the orcs as they hurried to catch up with their guide.

On the way back, near the forest where he had gone with Taryamo, Mairon noticed a pair of wolves creeping under the cover of dark, making their way to the fortress. They were smaller in stature than the Wargs, but appeared to be more intelligent. This was his chance to learn something.

He turned to address the orcs. "You know your way back, yes?"

They stared at him.

Slowly, one of the orcs raised his hand. "I do." But he instantly lowered it once everyone turned to look at him, Mairon included.

"Do you?"

"Yes...I have come this way many times."

"Well, then you shall lead the rest of your comrades, as appointed by Lord Mairon."

The orc could have beamed, though any joy he felt was transformed into fear as soon as he noticed the looks his brethren were giving him.

"And," Mairon added before departing, "supposing you still manage to get lost, the Elves are not to be eaten. Is that understood?"

The orcs glared harder at their new guide, and he became even more distressed.

Mairon saw them off, and then he approached the spies returning from lower Beleriand. When they noticed him standing in their path, they stopped and glared at him impatiently.

"Why do you hinder us, Maia? We are on an errand for the Master."

"I know your errand. The Master has required you to relate anything you find to me, and from there I shall bring it to his knowledge myself."

They made a sound like laughter, their yellow eyes studying him with sharp intensity.

"It is convenient that we have crossed paths, both on our own errands. It makes sense that I should carry on both of our messages to the Master, to keep you from making so many back-and-forth trips."

"Why should we believe you?"

"Have I not been trusted myself to lead a band of orcs to find the greatest of specimens for Lord Melkor's use?"

"That is Gothmog's job, as we understand. We have reported to him many times, but never before to you."

"Ah, yes, it was Gothmog's job, until he upset the Master by returning poor specimens. Unfortunately, he is now detained at the fortress and cannot complete his duties. I ask you again-do you hold this strong loyalty to Gothmog, even when he is absent, or to your master's will?"

He watched them glance at one another, transmitting some message between each other, but whether it was to trust him or not he could not determine. It must have been the latter, since in less than a second with his attention diverted they ran off together in a flash of dark fur, galloping at high speeds such as their animal forms allowed.

They had already reached the plain when he turned to look. He took a deep breath and followed behind them at a fast pace. This was a kingdom built on lies, and if he was to succeed in it he would have to hone that ability.


When he was close enough to the fortress to be seen, he composed himself and put away all signs of his anger, slowing down to a walk. The band of orcs was faithfully waiting outside for him, their captives all tied together in a giant pile in the center.

The leader he had appointed immediately approached him once he arrived.

"I've delivered them safely as you requested, Lord Mairon."

The Maia nodded at him. "Good work. What is your name again?"

"Boldog."

"You are promoted to captain, Boldog."

The excited orc looked to the general still overseeing the troops, and the latter glared at him in surprise, opening his mouth to make protest- but Mairon had already gone.

The Maia searched around for the wolves who had outrun him, but there was no sign of them anywhere, so he climbed up the spiral stone staircase carved into the mountain to Satarno's chambers.

The Maia was sitting at his table, hard at work on a wooden contraption, with one hand sharpening a knife on a whetstone beside him. He briefly glanced up when Mairon walked in.

"Have a seat," he told him.

Mairon obliged, sitting across from him and watching him chip away at the wood with his knife.

At last, Satarno stood up and retrieved a pitcher from a cupboard along with two cups and set it between them. He poured the bubbling liquid into one of the goblets and pushed it towards the other Maia.

"Do you want something to drink?"

Mairon studied the mead in his cup. "How did you make this?"

"We haven't been gone long enough to forget most of the recipes."

"And it does not tempt you to return to Aman?" he asked cautiously, holding it under his nose.

"Not when the ingredients are from Middle Earth."

He tipped the goblet towards him and took a sip. The drink went down smoothly and the taste was as sweet as he remembered. Its warmth spread from his head to his feet, soothing all his aching muscles. Each of his injuries was alleviated, even the ones on his back, which had troubled him ever since his tumble off the mountain when he first arrived.

Mairon drained the entire cup before setting it back down. "It is no wonder you are never cold!"

Satarno smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

"If they could drink it, I would give some to the orcs."

"They have become more accustomed to it," Satarno said, drinking from his own goblet. "But you speak true. For a long time only the Balrogs could withstand the extreme colds of Melkor's realm due to their nature, and we were forced to develop our own methods."

"How is it made?" he asked, already pouring himself some more.

"There are spirits who have been here longer than we have, from Yavanna and Estë's gardens. They plant and tend to their secret gardens they've made here now, and it is hard to tell the difference."

Surging with energy, Mairon leapt up from his chair and crossed to the window. Outside, a group of Maiar and Wargs were training under Taryamo's watch. He stood in the center with a whip, shouting orders to the riders who were performing complex maneuvers, his own steed faithfully at his side.

Mairon turned back to Satarno. "Where do they keep those creatures? You are right- I shall be needing your help."