The front entrance hall had priority completion before any other repair. Mairon thought he had done a good job the first time, and he considered it the most disappointing loss from the damage. Not that it mattered any longer. So he refused to dwell on the soreness.
To clear all the rubble, the foundations needed to be torn out and reinserted, this time even deeper underground. Time passed slowly, as tons of dirt and stone piled up outside the fortress and had to be transported elsewhere. The most convenient place was on top, and thus the height of the impassable mountains grew ever taller.
Once the tunnel had been cleared out, the workers positioned themselves with their tools to begin excavation. The walls were still intact, and the layer of rock on the surface revealed a series of carvings, which when viewed closer turned out to mainly consist of blasphemous images and insults directed at Melkor. The Vala's face was drawn and then scratched out, surrounded by curses and hateful titles.
The creatures distanced themselves from the wall, afraid to look at it, but a few of their pale lips twitched as they tried not to smile.
"Get rid of those," the Maia ordered. Right away they grabbed chisels and began to scrape off the wall's contents.
Mairon stood behind them to supervise, until one of the workers who was shoveling in the trenches nearby suddenly called out to him. "Lord, it has become difficult to dig."
They backed away to give him space, and he came forward and placed a hand on the surface to brush the dust away, tensing his jaw while he felt over the rough-hewn stone underneath.
"There is something here. Work at the edges."
Knowing that he watched, their spindly fingers carefully chiseled away at the stone with neat precision. At first appearance it was nothing but a solid wall, but after freeing the heavy stones a wide opening stood there, stretching down into darkness. They gathered closer to peer inside.
A crumbling staircase led off into a series of ancient caverns, falling away into deeper, unseen regions. Cold air whistled in from outside.
Mairon took a step forward to test his weight, and then began a careful descent while the others spilled in after him. Their footsteps were at first the only sound and the only movement, until the silence was broken by a loud scraping against rock and the pattering of many feet. Torches lit up on the platform below, casting the shadows of forgotten servants of Melkor to an exaggerated height upon the walls.
Mairon's own shadow mingled up there high above his head, and he mistook it for one of those in hiding until it tagged along after him when he moved onto a side path.
The walkway curved into the mountainside, and he inched along it with his back pressed to the wall. Looking aside he could see the ceiling open up on either end, supported by great foundations stained black with the forms of creatures crawling up.
It could have spanned the entire chain of the Iron Mountains.
Mairon was in awe, but at the same time it filled him with an unexplainable dread and loneliness, like the very walls held such horrible events that even time could never erase recollection of. Or perhaps a dark sorcery thrived in the drafts, only making itself known through the hushed whispers he was unable to make out, coming from the most shadowed regions.
In the depths of one of those places, where it reeked horribly of death and decay, a forlorn spirit sat hunched over in a corner, staring bleakly at nothing.
Mairon crossed to the edge and looked over, so that the two faced opposite directions. "How long have you been down here?" he asked.
"I hoped you could tell me," a hollow voice responded.
"I could not. I've only just arrived."
"Ah, yes. How unfortunate."
Mairon slowly turned to look at him, taking a few steps closer.
"What does that mean?"
"Only that you were probably deceived somehow..."
"Is this an insult?"
"No, a warning. There is hope for you still."
This was not a conversation Mairon currently wished to have.
He stooped down to address him. "Come. We will return to the upper levels."
The figure ignored his offer, remaining motionless in the shadows. Mairon tilted his head questionably.
"Has madness consumed you? Why do you wish to remain here?"
The other's words became grating, scornful. "Melkor will never possess me."
Mairon looked around, contemplating what to do. "I would allow you to remain here, but I do not see why you would prefer to rot under a mountain."
The spirit leveled his eyes to him, white pinpoints of light. Where he was crouched the withered face came into view, drawn and haggard. "So then you are not completely heartless. Yet. But he will take everything."
The embers of Mairon's eyes lit up in the dark, listening intently.
"Are you one of the Maiar? You sound like one of them..." he squinted harder. "But then, you seem different somehow. I do not like them. They are stupid."
"I have decided to forgive your previous insult." Mairon observed the failing supports in the ceiling, and then looked pointedly at the creature in front of him. "This place will soon cave in on itself."
"It matters not. I am due in Mandos. It would seem he has finally decided to take pity on me, if he had any." He laughed, but it was dry and hoarse, and only felt painful to hear. Using his last bit of strength he pulled himself up, taking hold of the arm Mairon offered him.
"I will focus on you, and not the fellow beside you. He is very much unsettling."
Mairon turned his head. "Who? I am alone."
He shook his head. "Oh, never mind. I must be hallucinating, being so near to death. Yet I am glad, not only because I am free," his empty eyes gazed upon the Maia's face, and it seemed to unburden him just to do so, "but also because this is the last thing I see, even if not very well. Such splendor does not belong here."
He clasped the other's hand in a gesture of parting. "May you never lose it."
His shape began to waver, and slowly his outline ebbed away until he faded completely with a breath of air like an escaping sigh.
Mairon rose to his feet, lingering there in a silence that became far too uncomfortable for his liking. One of his hands unconsciously reached up to feel over his face and make sure nothing had changed. Other than being smudged with grime, nothing had.
Below him, more of the servants were trailing down into the caverns to see what was going on, and now a large crowd consisting of perhaps thousands gathered together in a meeting of shadows, from what Mairon could view on the wall. He passed over some of them beating back wraiths rising out from crevices who sought to join in.
When he reached the end of the path, he was faced with a wall that looked too clean. Pressing against it, he forced open a sealed door with his shoulder and stepped out into the deafening corridors above. Crumbled stone and mortar littered the ground at his feet, and he brushed it off his arms and legs. The gaping hole behind him would need to be sealed, or else made into a permanent doorway. It was possible that much of the old architecture could be salvaged and built over, that he might improve upon it and greatly extend the depth of the fortress. That would surely please Melkor.
No sooner had he started to return to the front hall that a group of Melkor's captains turned the corner in front of him, talking loudly over the clinking of their own armor.
The last thing he wanted now was to be noticed, so he lowered his head and moved out of sight.
"Caverns, you say?"
It was incredibly dark at this end of the Iron Mountains. The captains who usually patrolled here had gone inside to rest, taking their torches and lanterns with them. It was also incredibly cold—freezing, actually. Mairon had made sure to drink plenty of mead before departure. He crept alongside Satarno, keeping the mountains close on their right and the wide expanse of the sea on their left.
"Yes, underneath the halls I was delving. They seemed ancient, covered over by layers of rock."
Satarn nodded thoughtfully. "I think I know what you speak of. During the war in which Melkor was captured, many of the Maiar and other spirits hid in deep places that were later built over by the Valar."
Mairon quickened his pace to keep up with him. "So they would still be there?"
"No, there are secret doors in and out that I doubt the Valar noticed in their haste. Ah!" He stopped suddenly, and Mairon halted behind him. "Here we are."
There was a solid door in the mountainside, meant to resemble the gray rock surrounding it. Satarno placed his hand somewhere that was hard to see in the dark, and a moment later it slowly caved in on itself and left a gaping black entrance.
"How certain are you that no one is here?" Mairon whispered.
"Certain. I watched them leave."
Satarno took a step inside and Mairon went after him, grazing their hands against the wall to find their way. For several minutes they walked along the passage in the dark, until an archway at the very end led into an open arena.
The two Maiar quickly crouched into a corner to look over the arena from above. Beneath the platform, hundreds of Wargs paced back and forth in the trenches, tussled with one another, or slept curled up on their sides. A few orcs watched over them from sheltered posts, occasionally tossing down scraps of meat to quell the beasts.
Mairon took a deep breath. "I'm suddenly second-guessing my decision to come here."
"Just relax. They're only animals. Once you've tamed them, they're completely docile."
Mairon shot him a look. "I don't believe those are really animals. That fëa was not a normal fëa."
Satarno was too concentrated on the scene below to pay much attention. "Follow me."
He leapt over the edge of the platform and landed on his feet. A second later, Mairon jumped down after him.
The orc captain patrolling several feet in front of them immediately turned around.
"Lords," he greeted, rushing over. He did a double-take, realizing they were not like many of the Maiar he was used to seeing, but hid his confusion. "Are you in need of Wargs?"
"We shall take it from here," Satarno said, breezing past him to get to the nearest pit.
The orc bowed his head and backed away.
The Maia leaned over the side and examined the specimens inside. He beckoned for Mairon to come join him.
He pointed to a gray Warg digging into the side of his enclosure, thrashing his jaws while his eyes rolled around in his head.
Mairon made a face. "That is the one I had before."
"He is one of the more difficult to tame."
He gave a tired sigh. "Of course he is."
"So he's the perfect candidate," Satarno finished.
"Why?"
"Because it will look good if you master him." He turned to him and smiled mischievously. "Not to mention it will be a slap in the face to Taryamo. He gave you that Warg expecting you to fail."
Mairon still studied the beast from a distance, unsure.
Seeing his hesitation, Satarno stepped over to the gate and prepared to lift it. "Go on! They can smell your fear."
Before he had a chance to speak, the gate opened, and hardly had it done so that the half-crazed Warg stopped digging and noticed the way was open. He started galloping towards it, as well as several others behind him, but Satarno shut the gate immediately after the desired Warg passed through.
The beast climbed up to where they were and sniffed around, breathing heavily. His twitchy eyes scanned his surroundings before finally focusing on Mairon. He began to approach, baring his fangs.
The Maia tried steeling himself, but as the Warg came closer he found himself backing up.
"Don't show fear!" Satarno advised him, picking up a whip and keeping it at hand.
Glancing over his shoulder, Mairon saw he was almost backed into a corner. He peered around the beast at Satarno. "Can't I at least use a saddle?"
"Does Taryamo use a saddle?" the other Maia answered from where he was leaning against the gate post.
"Fine," Mairon grumbled. He brought his arm back and drove the Warg several paces away, and while it was in shock from the blow, he leapt onto its side and pressed his legs in tight to stay upright.
Perhaps Taryamo had drugged the beast to ease his temper before, for its first rampage was nothing compared to the second. It kicked its legs and spun in circles, shaking its entire body to throw him off. Mairon was soon only hanging on with one hand, digging his fingers into its fur to maintain his grip. His head was bashed around with every jolt, and when he shut his eyes he could see only red.
The Warg threw itself against the wall and Mairon cried out in pain. He kept his eyes closed, however, and tried to locate the notoriously elusive fëa. Again he was in that dark expanse, filled with endless tunnels no less numerous than Melkor's fortress, searching blindly for the sole occupant. It was pointless to call for it, when it would simply run away. He had to feel- and hope when he passed by, he wouldn't miss it.
The fëa certainly was aware of him, it turned out, for it came at him from behind and attempted to thrust him out. Mairon was pushed off the beast and crumpled to the ground, his vision spinning in hectic circles. He blinked multiple times, but many duplicates of Satarno remained staring down at him with concern.
"Capture the fëa!" he pressed.
"I'M TRYING!" he yelled back.
He raised his head to see the Warg standing back against the wall, panting and watching him warily, pawing anxiously at the dirt. He rolled to the side just in time as it raced towards him before turning around and returning to its position.
Staggering to his feet and wiping the blood dripping from his nose, Mairon took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. He stared into its empty, black eyes for a moment, taking first one step, then two, and then began running towards it. The Warg met him halfway, and the two crashed into one another.
Mairon clung to its neck, swinging around to land on its back. His arm thrust into the domain of the fëa and grasped it tight, raising it towards him. The fight immediately left the beast; it untensed beneath him, becoming calmer. Its head drooped some and stopped thrashing.
The Maia fell forward, laying his head on its furry neck. When he regained his strength, he sat up and tested it out, pressing his legs in. "Git!"
The Warg moved forward, then back, as he commanded, requiring little urging. He willed it to run, and it ran. They went in laps around the arena, and Mairon relaxed enough that he could release his grip on its fur as well as let his legs hang free.
Satarno was clapping across the room. The orcs watched from the safety of the sidelines, their eyes wide and intent.
He slowed down as the Maia started approaching him with the whip.
"Now the real work can begin."
The boots of the Maia of Aulë bobbed towards and away from the Warg's flank with each step the beast took. Limitless sky opened above him to replace the dark mountain halls. Straight ahead, multiple red and orange lights flashed over the plain, giving away the position of the Maiar.
Mairon cast a glance at the hooded figure trailing behind him. Their amber eyes peered out from the shadowed face and the figure gave him a reassuring nod.
The tedious walk across the desolate stretch of land between Ered Engrin and the plains was made worse by the uncomfortable silence, broken only by the grunts of the Warg underneath him. The beast was clearly anxious to begin fighting, whereas Mairon felt more like free-falling from the top of one of the peaks he was passing under.
Dread engulfed him as soon as the shapes of the Maiar came into view, the torches he'd seen from afar casting a distorted light upon their faces and the black eyes of their Wargs.
At once, the group of Maiar working with Taryamo turned and stared at them, falling quiet while eyeing Mairon, Satarno and the Warg with a confused sort of interest.
He stopped his steed when they stood directly across from the Maia of Oromë. Satarno kept walking until he was beside Mairon, tilting his head to the side to speak quietly to him. "Keep your focus. Don't allow him to rile you up."
"That is exactly what I was going to let him do," he murmured in reply.
Taryamo looked impressed. He crossed his arms and tightened his lips into what might have been a smile.
"Well look at that! You enjoyed your time on a Warg, after all." He sat up eagerly. "I can't even tell you how much I've been anticipating this contest."
Taryamo's Warg moved in front of Mairon's, and the two beasts began circling each other, growling and snapping their jaws when the other got too close.
The Maia of Oromë unclasped his belt and handed his weapons off to his attendants. He kept his eyes locked on his opponent.
Mairon met his stare. He removed his cloak and threw it to one of the Maiar standing nearby. It covered the Ainu's face completely, and he tugged it off and folded it in front of him.
As if a signal had been sent out, the plain filled with hundreds of spectators, from Maiar captains to the lowest of thralls. The orcs temporarily ceased building the fortress or patrolling, and raced towards the action, eager for a distraction from their duties.
The two Maiar rose to meet and clasped their hands above them. They strained one against the other, pushing both ways. Gritting their teeth, they shoved with all their might, but neither budged from his position.
Taryamo's white Warg suddenly leapt forth and swung his claws at Mairon's. His Warg responded by taking several steps back and then charging forward. Mairon reached out to shove Taryamo when he came close, but the Maia pushed him aside and he nearly rolled off, had he not clung to its neck at the last moment.
Taryamo swerved his beast aside to dodge the other Warg's advances and turned around to face him. The two creatures began circling again, and when they passed nearby, both Maiar took the opportunity to swing at the other. Taryamo caught his elbow on his face as Mairon leaned forward to hit him.
He shook his head to dissolve the pain and his eyes landed on Satarno, who looked slightly worried where he watched from the crowd.
The Wargs lunged at each other again, and Taryamo crouched down and sprang onto Mairon's steed. He landed behind him and tried to throw Mairon off, but the Maia turned and kicked him square in the face, and Taryamo bridged the gap again to return to his own beast.
The gray Warg succeeded in knocking the white Warg onto its side, but it quickly sprang to its feet in time, pulled up with Taryamo's help. It jumped at the gray Warg and bit into its neck, causing it to stumble. The two beasts rolled around, a giant mass of fur and teeth. They thrashed and swung their heads side to side, making it difficult for their riders to stay on.
The gray Warg was pushed over and Mairon tumbled off and landed on his back in the dust. Taryamo stood up on his steed and sprang down on top of him.
One of the Maiar in the crowd glanced at the person next to him, shaking his head with a grin. "Melkor is going to be so mad he missed this."
"Well that's his loss," the other replied, keeping his attention on the fight.
They wrestled one another in the dirt, each trying to overpower the other. Taryamo bashed his head against the ground, but after several times Mairon managed to break free and wrapped his fingers around the other Maia's throat, squeezing tightly.
Taryamo kicked and writhed underneath him, at last bringing his knee up and striking Mairon in the chest. The latter rolled off with a groan, and Taryamo pinned his arms to the sides and attempted to punch him, but Mairon twisted away and barreled through the other Maia's arm. He got to his feet and kicked Taryamo in the ribs, only to be picked up by his foot and heaved several feet in the air.
Not far from them, the Wargs fought no less viciously, dragging each other by their limbs and then flinging them aside. They took turns pushing the other Warg down and clawing at its face, ramming into and knocking it off its feet. They toppled over and bit one another amidst loud snarls and aggressive displays of their fangs.
Mairon raised himself up on one elbow as Taryamo came again in his direction. He snatched the hand reaching for him and twisted it behind the other Maia's back, forcing him down on the ground. He sat on top of him and pressed his face into the dirt.
Taryamo grabbed a fistful of the Maia's hair and yanked on it. Once his hold loosened, Mairon was thrown off and Taryamo assumed the dominant position, holding Mairon beneath him.
Too tired to shake him, Mairon let his head droop, his nostrils flaring while he inhaled deep breaths. His muscles flexed, fighting against the other Maia's hold, but he was forced immobile.
Taryamo was gasping for air, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. He released Mairon and took a step back, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Mairon glared from where he lay on the ground.
The white Warg also had the gray one pinned under its paws, growling in warning in case it attempted to move.
"It appears I've won," Taryamo announced.
His attendants cheered and yelled out words of praise.
Mairon gradually sat up, sweat making his tunic stick to his chest. He rubbed his head and concentrated on clearing his vision to see his surroundings. Twisted faces stared back at him, yelling things too loudly to understand what they said, and he shifted his attention from them.
He looked around for Satarno and found his expression stern and otherwise unreadable, and began to have second thoughts. Had he wanted to watch him degraded in this way? Had he planned to set him up this whole time, in the knowledge that he would make a fool out of himself? He could feel his trust in anyone crumbling away.
Taryamo was still standing to his left. As the Maia started to walk away, Mairon reached out and grabbed his leg to make him stumble.
Snorts of laughter shot through the crowd as Taryamo's face hit the ground. He tried to crawl forward, but the other Maia seized him from behind and flipped him over. Mairon formed a fist and began pummeling Taryamo's face.
The crowd gasped, and the Maia's attendants watched in shock.
Taryamo latched onto his wrists and restrained him, using the time to stumble to his feet while shielding his broken nose.
Mairon also stood up, now suddenly calm.
Taryamo sneered at him. "You just can't admit defeat, can you?" Blood trickled onto the ground as he limped over to his attendants. His steed left its opponent and galloped over to join him.
Mairon turned his back on him and walked over to where his own steed was getting up. He briefly rested a hand on its neck, then began leading it towards the entrance of the mountain.
Someone followed him, and he saw that Satarno waited there, appearing confused but not half as distraught as he was.
"Why do you not look surprised?" Mairon questioned.
"He's always going to beat you if it's his forte," Satarno replied matter-of-factly.
"Then what was the point of that?" he asked, bewildered. "Why even try if we knew I was going to lose?"
"You have to lose in order to win."
Mairon stared at him, unblinking.
"Taryamo won't expect you to try again."
He gathered the lead rope in his hands. "No, neither would I," he scoffed.
"You have to defeat him on your own terms."
"That is easy to say for someone who does not have to worry about the words of his failure reaching the ears of Melkor."
He walked faster to go on ahead, but Satarno called out to him.
"You think I haven't failed, Mairon? Where do you think I received these scars? Not winning, no."
The other Maia stopped, looking back, and Satarno indicated to the slash marks on his chest, pulling the cloth away from one of his shoulders.
Mairon stood with his hands on his hips and glanced stoically at the wounds he was exposing.
Satarno cast a quick glance around and lowered his voice. "No one wants to say it, but Melkor has been failing plenty."
"He won in the end," he quickly corrected.
"Yes, but he barely even made it back. My point is, the least of your concerns should be one of your defeats reaching Melkor."
The Maia was eyeing him sidelong, so he continued, "But you have never lost. So I get it. Your pride is injured."
Mairon rolled his eyes.
"You have always been the best. No one ever doubted it, certainly not you. And you don't want to, but now you are. You're doubting yourself, and you have to prove your worth from nothing. The rules are different here. No one has to respect you."
He glared at him, a scowl twitching at his lips.
"You know these things already," Satarno told him.
"And what do you know? When was the last time you had seen me, Satarno? I know my worth, and it is far higher than any rider of Oromë who spent all his time dilly-dallying out in the woods while the rest of us did the real work. He does not even know the structure of the earth under his trampling, careless feet, I'll readily assume, and rarely does any complex thought ever grace his mind. So no, I do not hold my worth underneath his, not even for the brief span of a second." He spat out the words like poison, then turned on his heel and stomped away, with his Warg trotting after him.
Satarno nodded, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "That was even better than I'd hoped for."
There was a shortcut that made it possible to cut over a large section of the fortress without having to use the tunnels below. It was an old pavilion overlooking the arm extending out of the mountain chain, used primarily by captains to watch over the progress of their lieges.
Mairon used it now, hoping to avoid as much contact with anyone while he brought materials from one side of the fortress to the other where he was currently renovating.
As soon as he stepped through the door, he noticed Taryamo reclining on one of the couches, alone, with bruising around his nose as well as a black eye. The latter nearly jumped once he saw him, searching for a quick escape before giving up and deciding it was pointless.
The Maia of Oromë relaxed, waving his arm to let him know he was safe. "Go, continue with your errand. I have no business with you; we have already contested."
Mairon gave him a curt nod and started to walk past. The other Maia watched him curiously, twirling a dagger between his fingers.
"I did not know you were so foolish, Mairon," he spoke, looking away before the other Maia caught him staring. He tilted his head towards the ceiling and began tossing the knife up and down, catching it each time by the handle. "Satarno has already betrayed you once. What keeps him from doing it again?"
Mairon stared at him so critically that it resembled the most malicious of glares. "And why should I trust you?"
Taryamo laughed. He caught the dagger a final time, aimed, and threw it at the far wall, missing Mairon by a mere few inches. The Maia did not flinch.
"You shouldn't." He held up his hand, encouraging Mairon to toss it back to him. "But at least I do not deceive you with the semblance of friendship."
The Maia of Aulë did so, but he purposely threw the blade beyond Taryamo's reach, forcing him to get up from the couch if he wished to retrieve it.
Taryamo sighed dramatically. He got up from his seat, walking towards the Maia instead.
"I always had somewhat of a liking for you." He shoved him abruptly on the chest. The Maia raised an eyebrow at him, almost in a bored manner.
"You're tough. You would not hesitate to mark me with that blade, would you? - supposing no one was watching, of course. Melkor liked that about you, didn't he?"
Mairon returned his gaze calmly, refusing to answer. The Maia of Oromë turned aside and retrieved an arrow from the quiver attached to his upper back, hooking a rope to the shaft. He loaded the bow and shot without looking. The tip of the arrow notched against the edge of the dagger lodged into the wall with a soft cling! Taryamo then tugged on the rope in such a way that the hilt of the dagger flew out, along with the arrow, and both landed in his open palm.
The Maia of Aulë glanced away. "Your tricks hardly impress me."
He shrugged. "At least I made the attempt." Taryamo was about to return to his couch, but he stopped, facing him again. "Oh, and about Satarno: I may have been the one to say it, but I know you've been thinking it."
Mairon snorted dismissively and walked out.
The first underground forge had been developed, with a smokestack built above to carry out refuse from the furnaces. Mairon trusted that construction would hasten tenfold now, especially once his workers familiarized themselves.
Many of them had broken or misplaced their tools, so new and improved ones were necessary. Mairon tasked himself with that job, since he was the most qualified, and the surest way to get anything done was to do it yourself.
He lit each of the fires and then stood back and watched the flames spark and ignite. Once they had grown to reach the top of every furnace, he closed the doors partially and tossed in bars of metal. Then he carried the containers of molten metal to a worktable, molded a desired size, and fashioned the tools by placing them into a vise to keep them steady while he worked.
For several hours he was alone, until footsteps echoed on the stone floor behind him.
Satarno appeared in the entrance, carrying Mairon's cloak. He raised it up to the light and examined the symbols glowing different colors, admiring the rich texture of the fabric, tracing his hand over its sleek surface.
He was interrupted by a frustrated growl coming from Mairon. The latter slammed down one of his hands and reached for another tool from the lineup next to him, hunching over to look at it more closely.
Satarno draped the cloak over a chair and crossed into the forge. "You cannot allow one defeat to discourage you like this."
A piece broke off in the vise, and Mairon cursed, throwing it across the floor.
"See? One cannot concentrate if outside anger is interfering."
Mairon placed his hands on his head and raised it to the ceiling, watching as the shadows up there flickered and assumed morbid shapes. "I haven't been able to concentrate for a long time now, Satarno."
Satarno went to come beside him, but Mairon raised a hand and motioned for him to stay back. "I don't need help."
"So it goes deeper than this," he murmured. The Maia stood quietly in thought for a time, while instruments banged around on the table as Mairon collected the metal scraps to re-melt in the fire.
Satarno absently pulled at the silver gloves on his hands. "It is not easy," he introduced slowly, "it isn't easy at first, adjusting to all this." He looked uncertainly at Mairon, but the latter hadn't paused where he was pouring a mold.
He went on. "In Aman, everything is organized for you, but out here…the only order is what you can build for yourself."
The other Maia laid out the casts on a separate table to cool and carefully trimmed their length.
"It took me a long time. You fail much more than you succeed. That is what I've learned, and you should not expect to triumph so quickly here, for it is much more difficult than-"
The Maia suddenly snapped, turning on him. "Perhaps if you had not betrayed me, I wouldn't be here!"
Satarno stared at him blankly. "What are-" His expression changed, becoming defensive. "Me? What did I have to do with anything? I listened to you plenty when we were friends, and believe me when I say this, Mairon, you were doomed to fall prey to Melkor from the beginning."
The Maia glared at him, breathing hard, sweat glistening on his face.
"Taryamo has succeeded in turning you against me," Satarno observed.
"I don't need much prompting to be wary of you," Mairon said coldly.
"What cause have I to purposely humiliate you?"
"You were always jealous of me," he shot back.
Satarno laughed. "Or were you jealous because Aulë trusted me more than you? What does it matter? He was wrong about both of us."
"Aulë was never wrong about me," Mairon attested. "If he doesn't understand now, while he's still listening to the lies of Manwë, he will one day. I will create an Arda that Eru intended, I promise you that."
Satarno slowly shook his head. "Believe what you want, Mairon. We're just pawns of Melkor, subject to his will and whims."
"If you're so regretful, why don't you return to Aman and beg for pardon?"
He narrowed his eyes. "Because it's not that easy. Have you seen any other Maia do it, besides Ossë, who will always be forgiven because his whole nature is to be reckless? We're not like Ossë, Mairon. We're supposed to be perfect." He placed his hands on his temples, like it hurt him just to think. "Day in and day out, that's all they ever made me believe. You are perfect, until you aren't. One second you are the greatest, worthy of all admiration, and the next…" His jaw clenched. "You are nothing."
Mairon glanced briefly downward, and then reached out to lightly clasp the Maia's shoulder. "I wish you had spoken these sentiments much sooner."
He let out a weak laugh. "You were much different back then. I don't think you would have received a thought like that very kindly, at least on the outside."
"Perhaps not," he admitted. Without warning, a smile broke out of his grim countenance. "Yes, now I see how Taryamo works."
"He is very clever."
"Indeed. Nonetheless, I will let him believe he has succeeded in driving a wedge between us. Then his own confidence shall be his downfall."
"Then we are still in alliance? Good, because it was not easy getting that back," Satarno said, indicating to the cloak he'd just brought in.
Mairon held out his arms to gesture to the forge. "Yes. Who else am I expected to entrust this to?"
Satarno swiveled his head to get a good look around the room. "It is quite impressive…" He tapped a finger pensively on his chin. "Although I may have to make some minor changes."
"Go ahead. I will simply reverse them again," the Maia answered, and he leaned over to return to his task.
