A/N: a quick note on the girdle of Melian: because of the time of the orcs' creation, and since Lost Tales does not give a specific time it was used (also I think it's just common sense to have a protection spell when there's servants of Melkor roaming freely), the girdle of Melian is in use earlier here than it is in the Silmarillion.
Even when his orcs collapsed from exhaustion Mairon could continue long after. He stepped over the sleeping bodies of his workers, hardly aware of them, as the fires dwindled to ash. Sweat poured down his brow, but he did not raise a hand to wipe it away.
He went out to complete the last of the fortifications. But once he stepped outside of the forge, a thick cloud of smoke surrounded and threatened to smother him, and he blindly made his way down the mountainside to find its source.
He observed in disbelief that the bases of three towers had been built directly above his newly constructed gate. Orcs climbed up and down on steep ladders, hauling materials, supervised by captains that had not even asked his permission.
Brimming with anger, he approached one and roughly pulled him aside. "What do you think you are doing?"
The captain immediately pointed off into the distance, holding up three fingers on his other hand. "The Master commanded we build three peaks."
Mairon looked in the direction he pointed. Situated high in the mountains, Melkor sat surrounded by his fiery bodyguards, shouting orders and deciding for the first time to oversee the development of his fortress.
The Maia abruptly shoved the supplies he carried into the arms of the captain before finding a safe path to maneuver through the rubble, up to where his lord presided. He lingered impatiently behind the other Maiar standing in his way, until the path cleared and it was his turn to see Melkor.
"Mairon," the Vala greeted, before the Maia could speak, "Look out there and tell me what you see."
"I can't see anything," he answered.
"Correct."
Mairon glanced left, then right. "And why is this desirable?"
The Vala rested his elbow on the arm of his chair. "So the spies of the Valar cannot see all that we do. Is that not obvious? Are you unaware of defense measures?"
"I am quite knowledgeable, I think, in that field. There was a time when I had to routinely account for the possibility of attack."
Melkor looked briefly at him, remaining silent.
"You made no mention of this," Mairon told him.
"No, I did not. The idea actually just came to me recently."
He furrowed his brow. "I received no notice concerning it..."
"You?" Melkor asked, staring down at him from his great seat, until it seemed that he came to a sudden realization. "Oh, was this your job?"
Mairon sighed, well-aware that he was not being taken seriously. "The job my lord assigned me to, yes."
"I did not find you here, so I have assumed your position." He motioned behind Mairon, and the Maia stepped back in surprise as a line of captains pushed past him to take instruction from the Balrogs.
His irked expression followed, waiting for them still once they turned around to leave. Then he looked again to his lord.
"Was my work unsatisfactory?" he asked.
"Not entirely, no. I found good use for many of your devices," Melkor answered, nodding toward the smoke issuing above the gate.
Mairon promptly turned around and peered closer, and his eyes slowly widened to their full extent.
"Are you burning my furnaces?!"
"Your furnaces? I thought they were made for me?"
Mairon caught himself, and quickly redirected his approach. "But that is not their purpose!"
Melkor shrugged. "But I found a better one."
Several stages of emotion crossed his face. He shoved down the frustration and anger as best as he could and adopted a composed demeanor. "Why have you done this? What reason do we have to light numerous smoke signals?"
"To keep many unwanted visitors away," the Vala responded.
"And draw all kinds of attention, if that has not already been done."
Melkor squinted at him. "What are you talking about?"
"Your recent activities under the earth."
He snorted. "Good, I hope the Elves hide away in their woodland realms and remain out of my sight."
"I thought my lord desired to rule over them?"
"I can do so from a distance."
"Not quite as effectively—" Mairon began, stopping short once Melkor narrowed his eyes.
"Do not attempt to argue with me, Maia. I suppose you think you know better, when you do not."
"Perhaps not," he admitted, "but I know that if my lord went to the Elves in his splendor and declared his superiority, they would have little choice but to accept him as their lord."
A faint smile touched his lips, before it was absorbed under his façade. "You cannot reason with Elves, Mairon. They are entirely emotion-dominated thanks to the work of my brother. The only use they are to me is for labor purposes, which at the very least I am owed in tribute."
"I do not think Manwë has a great amount of influence on the Elves remaining here..."
"He must, because all of them are the same."
Mairon breathed in a deep sigh. "Do you require my aid?"
"Why is it that you always assume I need your help?"
"Because you asked for it."
"Hmm. No, I think I will raise my own fortress how I see fit."
Mairon nodded, turning to leave. "Very well. Then I will not interfere."
He was eyed doubtfully his entire descent. When he had gone some distance he glanced back to see that he was still being observed. The feeling did not leave him until the smoke reached to such a height that the shape of the mountains behind could no longer be discerned, much less the figure sitting there.
And still the fires were fed so excessively that star light was blurred out from the sky and orcs began to fall to the ground at his feet, choking on the ashes.
Perhaps when the corpses of his own servants covered the landscape Melkor would realize the error of his reasoning—but it was likelier that he would not.
Mairon found he would not be able to stand around and be passive, nor could he look on the ruins of his furnaces without feeling intense frustration start to build up. But more than anything he was simply confused. Had he not done everything required of him, and yet still received only bitterness?
He took a few steps forward, only to stop and glance down at the bodies blocking his way. A sudden spark of anger lit up within him and he mindlessly pushed them out of his path.
He nearly bumped into Satarno, who was rushing in from the other direction.
"Mairon! What's happened?" the other craftsman asked.
The Maia did not stop to greet him. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Well, maybe, if I could see."
"Melkor is sitting up there and ordering his thralls to feed the furnaces until the fumes kill them."
Satarno's expression became thoughtful, if not accepting. "That is what tends to happen if you give him the means and opportunity."
"I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have to dispose of all these corpses."
"Then just leave him be. He'll grow bored eventually. He's only toying with you; he knows it gets under your skin." He paused, thinking it over for a moment. "Did you say anything to offend him?"
Mairon gave an exasperated shrug. "Perhaps. But you'd think he'd care more about the possible destruction of his fortress."
"Just try not to add the fuel to his fires. Literally and figuratively," Satarno advised. Then he left him to go supervise the orcs carrying piles of wood in through the tunnels.
But Mairon picked up the remaining corpses and tossed them into a furnace, watching without expression as the flames consumed every last trace.
His presence was visible before it was actually seen—first a blast of cold air, and then a long shadow, consuming all in its path—and if his will was bent towards any one entity, it manifested as a cold, gripping dread.
The creatures in the hall grew tense, seeing the shadow approach. Most fell against the walls to let him pass, and if they did not he dismissively shoved them out of the way.
His bodyguard Lungorthin stood at the far end of the hall, but he slowly turned when he viewed the shadow stretching over the wall across from him.
Melkor glowered at him, his eyebrows sinking lower. "Why are you here? Do my orders mean nothing to you?"
"We have the entire perimeter under constant watch, my lord. None could possibly draw near without our knowledge."
Melkor looked up at the stone pillars supporting his cavernous halls with a faraway look in his eyes. "I recall you telling me something similar just before Utumna was sieged…"
"Yes, but this time—"
The Balrog quickly shut his mouth as the Dark Lord took a step forward, and he immediately shifted back once the dark eyes leveled onto his.
"This time I am taking all of you down with me. Think of that while you go back and check your security measures over again."
He was roughly pushed aside without another word. Melkor's thoughts were consumed thus so, until waking out of them he found he had wandered into the region of the mountain where Mairon usually presided. He prepared to turn around, but the behavior of the orcs working there drew his attention.
So completely immersed in their work, none looked up to even acknowledge his presence. Melkor drifted closer, taking discreet steps while he silently observed.
Only one, clad in a blacksmith's garb, looked up and straightened at his approach. But his facial expression displayed more confusion than fear.
He glanced around. "Where is Master Mairon?"
Melkor blinked a few times and waited, assuming he had heard that wrong. But as the seconds passed, realization settled in, and he stared in horrified disbelief. At last he shot forward, menacingly, as a scowl marred his features. "Master? Is that what he calls himself?" With brutal force he reached out and took hold of the orc, hurtling him against the wall. He pressed his face closer. "I am in charge, you witless thrall."
The orc cowered beneath his gaze, sliding farther down the wall to escape it. Melkor finally released his grip and spun around, letting his orc fall heavily to the floor behind him.
The others had already taken the hint. As soon as Melkor faced in their direction, they dropped their tools and quickly inched back out of his way. He glanced over each of them with a gaze like stone, and as its shadow fell on each they went rigid.
No one moved while they stared downwards, not daring to meet his gaze.
Melkor smiled bitterly, but it faded faster than it came. "Go join the others outside."
Slow at first, perhaps reluctantly, they turned and departed from the hall, setting down whatever else they carried. Melkor waited until they were gone from him. Then with a cool demeanor he knocked over the anvils and spilled the coals of the furnaces, until nothing stood in his way.
Fire blazed out of the cavern, consuming everything in its path. But out he walked, swiftly and paying it no heed, leaving the orcs nearby to notice it and begin shouting to one another.
The Dark Lord continued up through the tunnels until they opened onto the outcropping supporting his seat. From the high angle, he could observe the frenzy below, his oppressive form the only stillness amid rampant activity.
But his mind focused not on that. Rather, it sought desperately to settle on one entity to place all his anger on, before it consumed him.
Manwë? Mairon? Any of the orcs he passed on the way up here?
His hatred towards Manwë was constant, but Mairon had a habit of playing with him—one moment declaring his undying loyalty and then scheming the next. Melkor did not choose to admit that the possibility of Mairon betraying him was constantly gnawing at his thoughts. He assumed that giving the Maia some amount of power had satisfied him, but it did not appear that way now.
His gaze carefully searched the crowd of servants gathered below, but failing to spot the Maia, he called over to one of the presiding captains.
"Where is Mairon?"
"I have not seen him, Master."
"Find him, and send him to me immediately."
He very much doubted Mairon would abandon his original task so easily, and was always expecting the Maia to reappear and try to meddle again. His sudden absence should have eased Melkor, but instead it made him nervous.
Overhead, a series of orcs lost their balance and collided with the ledge supporting his throne. He absently shoved them off with his foot.
He would have very much preferred leaving the task to someone else, as watching orcs labor seemed to be an activity only Mairon could enjoy. But he was not about to overcome his pride and grant it back to him. No, that was certainly not going to happen.
Flames leaped up into the dark sky like a bonfire, giving away Gothmog's entrance from the caverns beyond. He identified the sulk in Melkor's stature too late, before he could retreat.
"The orcs have started a fire in one of the tunnels, my lord."
Melkor did not look up. "And why weren't you there to watch them, Gothmog?"
"It was not in my section." He glanced down at his lord's form but said nothing, knowing an explanation was coming.
"It seems I cannot trust your useless order with anything. I rot in captivity and return to find you have allowed my servants to run carelessly through the wild—"
"My lord, it is nearly impossible to keep track of all of them—"
"—celebrating! They were very nearly celebrating my absence! And now my orcs have been exploited, despite all of my efforts placed into creating them..."
Gothmog stepped forward, eager to change the subject. He had already received plenty of reprimanding while Melkor sat idle in his throne room. "Your orcs require conflict. If we prepare them for battle—"
Melkor turned away again. "Battle against whom? Who is there in all of Arda even worthy of my consideration?"
"None, my lord. But there are threats to your power."
He suddenly laughed, empty and bitterly. "I assume you mean Thingol? His people are terrified to set one foot outside of his domain."
"They could be uniting against us under his leadership," Gothmog cautioned. "Your phantoms and beasts will only keep them subdued temporarily. The longer we hold off assault, the stronger Thingol becomes."
Melkor sent him a warning glance. "I know what you are trying to do, and it is not working. We are not yet ready for an assault."
"Then I will prepare them—"
He slowly raised his head and the dim fire in his eyes ignited. "NO, YOU BLOOD-THIRSTY HOUND! YOU WILL DO ONLY THAT WHICH I COMMAND!"
The strength of his voice shook the peaks of the mountains and hundreds of orcs cried out, as one of the three towers appeared to be on the verge of falling, and they swarmed at its base to keep it upright.
The Balrog took a step back and patiently waited for the flames to subside in the black pools of the Vala's eyes.
"Shall I rouse the orcs for your entertainment?" he asked after some time.
Melkor waved the suggestion away. "No. Not now. I will not feel at ease until they finish with my mountains."
Gothmog viewed him sidelong, stealing a glance at the gems weighed heavily over his brow, thinking they may have some effect on the Vala's behavior. But other than being overly bright, they appeared worthless to him.
Yet there was a difference in Melkor's features, underneath his mask of solemnity. There was worry, and a great weariness.
The Balrog quickly and professionally shifted his eyes away when Melkor snapped towards him. "Is there no news from the Helcaraxë?"
"None, my lord. I believe the Valar abandoned their search some time ago..." Gothmog replied, his tone of voice revealing it was not the first time he had been asked.
"Then why does my unease only grow heavier?" Melkor demanded, his unblinking stare aimed expectantly at the captain.
Gothmog sought for the right thing to say. "Does my lord not frequently say that the Valar have little motivation to leave Aman for any purpose?"
"Yes, because it is fact. But my thoughts linger there yet, and I do not understand my own foreboding."
"Our only opposition comes from Thingol."
Melkor frowned. "I do not consider that opposition. He is but a petty Elf lord lingering in my lands, but I have claimed them again. He will not go untouched by my malice, I assure you." He glanced impatiently at the Balrog. "Now leave me be. I have much to think about without your frequent commentary, which has already made me wish I suffered longer in Mandos."
Gothmog's presence was soon replaced by Mairon's. Out of the corner of his eye, Melkor watched him approach with a smug demeanor and begin to kneel.
He grinned widely. "Master Mairon! You have returned."
The Maia froze with his head bowed, the hair in his face concealing his expression.
Melkor leaned closer to him, and his smile faded into a sneer. "What have you been scheming in my absence?"
Mairon calmly raised his eyes. "Building my lordship's kingdom."
"Are you? It seems to me that you are building your own kingdom."
His voice was firm. "I serve only you."
"Clearly demonstrated by your attempt to turn my orcs against me…"
"I am simply teaching them to be more efficient."
"They are not your pupils to teach, Mairon. They are mine. My creations. It was my generosity alone allowing them to work under you!"
"My lord, they try to kill each other," he reasoned.
"As is entirely appropriate. They are intended to be weapons of mass destruction. Such is the way I have made them."
"...And my lord's wish then is to destroy his own kingdom? To have his subjects constantly at ends with one another? How will anything get done?"
A flame stirred within the eyes of Melkor and his hands gripped the edges of his throne.
Mairon had stood up now and faced the other way, oblivious to the effect he was having on the Vala. "I have thought that we might turn our attention towards the Elves beyond the Blue Mountains. They are showing signs of development."
"What?" Melkor immediately pointed off to the east. "Go quickly, and demolish them!"
Mairon walked towards him. "The Avari are still primitive, but supposing we patronize them now, they will progress in skill and prove to be valuable servants."
Melkor frowned down on his servant. "That is your plan? To rear more of the insolent Noldor in my kingdom? No, I prefer they remain ignorant. I've no doubt the Noldor will take what you taught them and use it against you, as they will against Aulë and every other Vala who wasted time sharing knowledge with them."
The Maia was about to respond, but Melkor cut him off:
"And who are you to question my methods? I possess the power here, and you only so much as I allow." He smiled mockingly. "Unless you would rather crawl back to Valinor and beg for mercy, insisting that I had captured and forced you into my service. I'm sure Aulë would take back his precious Maia, and none would question it, for the Valar are blind. But I am not."
Mairon's expression turned serious. "Did I not leave Valinor with you?"
Melkor leaned over his form. "Yes, you did," he said, and with a forceful push he sent Mairon over the edge of the cliff.
At the same time, a few of the captains were making their way up to the throne, but they stopped and gawked as they witnessed the Maia falling off the side of the mountain. Hesitantly, they continued to approach. "We have lost many orcs from a fire, Master. Your furnaces have been overthrown-"
"I do not wish to hear about your incompetency," he answered, shooing them away. "Go tell Gothmog."
He had only been left alone for a short time when two hands gripped the ledge below him and a head appeared above, followed by the rest of the body as Mairon hoisted himself back up to solid ground.
The Maia spent a moment catching his breath, then warily approached the throne while keeping a good distance between himself and Melkor. The Dark Lord stared off, seemingly lost in thought, and did not appear to notice him. So Mairon's gaze drifted away, to the other end of the fortress.
Melkor glanced at the side of his face and studied him, to see if perchance the insolence had faded, but he could not read the other's expression. Mairon seemed to feel he was being watched and turned his gaze to the left, but Melkor quickly stared straight ahead.
He tried to look again, but Mairon turned as soon as he glanced his way, and he was caught.
Melkor scowled. "What?"
"You were staring at me, my lord."
"Do not be ridiculous. You are standing in my line of sight."
The Maia continued to study him questionably, so he dismissively turned his head away with a grunt.
"Your servants appeared to be slightly uncoordinated..." Mairon started to say as he watched them from above.
"I am not granting back your position. In fact, I have something else for you to do."
He looked to him expectantly.
"Mairon, you are to go and spy on the thief."
"Who?"
"The one lounging around in my land, even after my return."
"Thingol? There are other spies-"
"I recall that you work well with Elves."
He raised an eyebrow. "I suppose... but word could have somehow reached them from Valinor and they may know it to be me."
"You are a decent liar. I am always aware of when you seek to deceive me, but others may be more easily fooled."
Mairon eyed him sidelong. "Yes, my lord."
He went back out again through the tunnels, following the way out according to memory. When he came to the gates, where several of Melkor's spies awaited orders, he selected one that appeared to be in the best physical shape.
Mairon beckoned him forth. "Prepare those in Beleriand for my arrival."
The spy took off running at an ideal speed, although Mairon could have easily surpassed him supposing he desired to. But because he dreaded to see the state of affairs awaiting him there, and in order to rest somewhat, he went on at a leisurely pace.
Not that he could afford to. There was still some distance to cover, and Melkor was vehemently opposed to steeds. All other wild beasts he would gladly pervert for his own usage, but he did not bother with horses, insisting they were difficult to subdue because Oromë held some sort of control over their minds.
It was possible for Mairon to make out the route the spy had taken, and he followed it past the mountainous region he first trekked upon coming to Arda, and then down into the wide region he figured to be lower Beleriand. He started to approach a tower close to Ered Gorgoroth, hidden from any eyes that might happen to look north that was used to keep watch over Eglador.
Its keepers spotted his arrival from afar and began shouting back and forth to one another. By the time he was within range, they had gathered themselves outside in an unorganized huddle. For a few moments he watched while they attempted to straighten into a line, until he lost patience.
"Report?"
He received no verbal answer, but a few of them ran to an entrance in the tower and hauled out two captives, and proceeded to drag them over the ground towards Mairon. Both had long, silver tresses flowing past their shoulders and wore fine clothing of a deep green hue. But their slender faces were concealed under tangles of hair, and their hands were streaked black with grime.
The orcs dropped them down on their faces. One let out a muffled cry. The other stirred in his bondage, struggling to escape.
"We caught these attempting to cross into our territory," the captain informed him.
Mairon studied them from where he stood, then walking slowly over to where they lay on the ground, tapped the side of one with the front of his boot. The bundle rolled over and gray eyes stared out from within the pools of silver hair.
He brushed some of it aside and caught the gleam of a symbol under the clothing.
"Ah. Spies," he said, letting the hair fall back into place. "And what have you found so far?"
He was regarded strangely by both, for they could not recognize him and were puzzled as to how he knew their speech.
Both pairs of eyes squinted at him. "Who are you?"
"I think I will ask the questions. Where are you from? Eglador?"
"We will not speak to you," the nearest one said.
"Then you will not tell me how to get there, either? That is unfair, for I will gladly show you the way you seek. I will even send my orcs to accompany you. Yea, they will bring you there directly."
Mairon smiled. The Elves remained grim-faced and silent.
He did wish to know where they came from, however. "Where did you find them?"
The captain pointed westward. "Perhaps they came from the direction of the sea, for we saw them cross the river."
Mairon tried talking to them again. "Were you only attempting to cross the sea, or do you come from there?"
Still they said nothing.
"I am the one to speak to," he said quieter, "if you desire to be free from your bondage. All you need to do is answer my questions."
One of them appeared to be giving in, drawn by the light of Aman in his features; the other noticed and tried to turn that way, as much as his bonds would allow.
"Tell him nothing! He cannot be trusted if he works with orcs."
Mairon turned towards him, but it was too late; quickly, as if freed from a trance, the Elf previously under his sway shut him out.
But he was not entirely disappointed, for he could piece together the details easily enough himself. "Very well. Perhaps later we will talk more."
He started to walk away, and the captain hurried to catch up with him.
"Have any more come from that way? From the Falas?" Mairon asked.
"None that we have seen."
"Then this is relatively new...it could be they have just now learned of the lord's return. Let Thingol remain the center of your focus, but keep an eye on the west."
He turned aside and watched as the captives were dragged back to the tower. "Are there any of you there now?"
"Not within close range of Region. That is where Thingol keeps most of his guards."
Mairon stared him down. "I want that area watched, nonetheless. Close his guards in if need be." His gaze hardened. "See to it that your spies are spread throughout these woods, or there will be hell to pay when I return." He searched through the faces of the orcs staring back at him. "And where is Boldog? I want him in charge."
"He went with an expedition to the east. I will tell him, sir."
The Maia scanned the tree line of the forest ahead. "Which direction should I take, if I wish to enter inconspiciously?"
The orc hesitated, squinting to see as far as he could manage, before pointing to the nearest entrance.
Had his task allowed it, he would have wandered Beleriand willingly. So far he was quite pleased with the awe he invoked in its inhabitants, but he decided it was better to blend in for the time being. At his willing, his hair became silver locks and his clothing the shade of the woods, and he swept by virtually unseen.
He found himself in a darker area of the woods, where the ground was stained with blood and corpses lay in his path. He paused to observe more closely before continuing, his footsteps the only sound in a dead silence.
Yet his movements were still visible to the eyes accustomed to shadows, and they bided their time and waited until he passed by. The attack was so sudden that he had little time to process their identities.
Appearing to be more of a spirit than a physical creature, Mairon thrust out his arm and took hold of the entity's essence within, tightening his hold and forcing it down at his feet. Two others followed in sequence, but they were swiftly cast aside until three lay squirming under his grasp.
Strands of silver fell across his face as he leaned over them, eyes alight. "Do you seek to hinder the envoy of your lord?"
They had been struggling to shift into shadows to elude him, but once his words were spoken they lay exposed, eyeing him suspiciously.
"You look like an Elf to me," the first attacker observed.
"It is my guise. I would expect wraiths to know such things."
"What are you? We have dwelt here many ages and never known you."
"You are spies, then?"
"Spies? Why would we be spies? No, we were lords once, when the Great One controlled this land. Before he departed from it. Now all is overrun with Elves."
Mairon listened, nodding patiently. "Uh-huh... and have you looked towards the north lately, by chance?"
"No, why?"
"Slower than the Elves, I see."
Realization finally dawned upon them, although even then they appeared more dazed and confused than anything. "The Master has come back?"
"Did I not say the voice from the north was he?" one insisted, but the other two merely squinted at him, as if they could not remember.
"Before the giant spider arrived—" he started to explain.
"Enough," Mairon interrupted. "Make yourselves useful and point me in the direction of Eglador."
"We do not go near there for obvious reasons. If that is your destination, the Master likely seeks to rid Himself of you."
"He will need to try harder then. Will you show me the way, or must I destroy you instead?"
"We will need to discuss it," they decided.
He nodded. "Very well."
"Alone."
"I'm not listening."
The three wraiths turned and consulted with one another while he waited.
"Release us, and we will serve you," one said finally, with obvious falsity.
Mairon removed his grip, but even so his will held a constraining force over them, only becoming obvious after each tried to flee in a separate direction. They reluctantly returned to him as he watched with a smug grin.
"I think you underestimate my power. Now, do as I bid—take a form similar to mine."
With irritated glances at one another, they did so, though not near as effectively. While Mairon's face and fair hair glowed beneath the starlight, the wraiths emitted none. He saw this as a problem, and wove some of his own radiance around them despite their protests.
"First and foremost, I am in charge. You will follow my instructions exactly. Is that clear?"
"Why? We have been serving the Master since—"
Mairon's countenance underwent a sudden change; his face hardened and his muscles tensed, animosity flaring up in the recesses of his eyes.
They wordlessly sprang away from him.
Mairon eyed each of them cautiously, searching for any more signs of defiance before he relaxed his guard. "Lead the way."
His guides led him through several miles of woodland, but the three of them halted much sooner than he expected.
"This is the farthest we can go."
There was a pulsating energy in the air resembling mist. It clung to the ground and the branches of the trees, obscuring any possible path. When they took a step forward, their surroundings repeated, as if they had not gone anywhere: a simple enough spell meant to confuse those of lower intelligence.
Mairon took the lead now. He walked through the repeated images rather than follow any of the trails that appeared to lead somewhere. His progress was slow, and for a long time it did not seem they were moving at all. There were only gradual changes around them at first, until the illusion finally dropped away.
Their surroundings became less sickly and more enchanted. The trees shone silver under the stars, and the singing began, at first a distant soft humming until it suddenly came from all directions. Lights mingled farther off, coupled with voices.
His guides at first only talked quietly among themselves before finally addressing him. "Shouldn't we introduce ourselves?"
"Be silent."
"I'm Ugdun, and-" they started, but he quickly cut them off.
"Stay behind me and do not talk, do not look at anyone."
The guard line he had detected from afar was now visible on the bank of a river. Judging by their scattered order, it was not currently a period of high alert.
Originally he sought to pass them by, if three had not stood directly in his path. They were turned the other way, revealing the weaponry strapped to their backs. As they approached, the nearest one suddenly shouted out.
"What are you doing out there? Have you lost your mind?!"
Mairon came closer and they stepped back some, struck by his fairness. "We are messengers from the Falas," he said smoothly, making eye contact with each of them, "and we are here to see King Thingol."
The guard narrowed his eyes. "You come a strange way to see Thingol."
"Forgive the circumstances of my arrival; I was waylaid off course by foul beasts in the wilderness."
"As is expected, for you appear to have taken the northern route."
Mairon cursed under his breath. "Orcs..."
"Orcs? Did you encounter those?"
"They hinder me quite frequently."
"And them—" the guard asked, studying the dark Elves behind Mairon, "they are with you?"
"Yes, they accompanied me. You will have to excuse their behavior, for they have not yet recovered from the horrors we've witnessed."
The guard stared longer at the Elves behind Mairon, but they refused to look at him, so he turned again to the Maia. "You did not happen to come across two of Thingol's scouts, did you? They had set out for your dwellings near the sea not too long ago, and then attempt to come as close as they could to Angband."
"I did, in fact. But I think Thingol has sent them to a greater peril than he knows."
"Perhaps so," the guard said, gazing past him towards the Iron Mountains with much foreboding. "The shadow already seeks to poison the very air we breathe."
"That is the reason for my coming, and a matter I will discuss with the king," Mairon said with a smile and a nod, seeking to pass by again.
The guard lingered, hesitating to let them through. But Mairon's elegance and mastery of the Sindarin tongue seemed to convince him, and he let them pass, although his suspicion lingered heavily on the three accompanying him.
"Do you need to be escorted to Menegroth?" he offered.
"I think not. My eyes can make out its glory and splendor even from this distance."
The company waited until the guard turned and squinted in the appropriate direction, and then followed his line of sight and went that way. Once they had gone, he called together his surrounding guards.
"Go swiftly to King Thingol, and tell him of the visitors," he instructed one. "And keep an eye on them," he told another. "I am not at ease in their presence."
They stopped at a relatively secluded area with a clear view of a large earthen mound across the Esgalduin, which Mairon assumed to be Menegroth. He stood in the shelter of the trees and studied it for some time, making a mental note of its location and surroundings.
His companions stood around restlessly, finally coming to his side to study the immense dwelling.
"Are we here to kill Thingol?" they asked excitedly.
"We will avoid Menegroth at all cost," Mairon warned, turning around to address them. "There is a controlling presence there that will see through us, should we enter."
"Like you?"
"Yes," he decided, realizing it had to be one of the Ainur. And Melian was a likely guess. Were the Elves worshiping her now? Whoever it was, they were an inconvenience.
"Yes, then let us avoid it at all cost."
Mairon looked him over with brief irritation. As if sensing something, he abruptly turned around and peered off a-ways. "We are being pursued. Make haste."
They fled past numerous Elves, sticking to the shadows to make themselves less known, and then stopped and waited for Mairon's go ahead. Peering through the trees, he could make out the subtle movement of the guards whenever they stepped into view.
Eventually their pursuers reached the shelter where they had just been, and here they became confused; collectively they could not decide which way to go, and began discussing the next course of action.
Mairon and his companions returned to the main path and slowed down to a walk.
"Do you even have a plan?" they asked him.
"I always have a plan," he answered.
"Then what is it?"
"I thought to speak with him."
"With Thingol?"
"Yes."
"Why would you want to do that?"
The wraith immediately stopped his questioning when he saw him pause in his tracks and turn around, glaring at his interrogator for some time before continuing. "It would be for persuasive purposes, if you must know."
"I fail to understand you."
The other two shook their heads in warning, motioning for him to shut up.
"Do not strain your mind in the attempt," Mairon said.
At an outpost just ahead, Elves began handing off bundles of supplies to each other and loading onto carts what could not be carried. They brought all these things with them as they set off on a stone path winding along the Esgalduin.
Mairon called to one of the Sindar nearby.
"Where are they going?" he inquired.
The Elf looked up and studied him with a frown. "If there has been a change in procedure, I did not hear of it and will not be held accountable." He returned to his task without another word.
Mairon stared at him in confusion for a moment, then turned to the wraiths again.
"Remain here," he ordered. "I will return shortly."
"Did you not order us to remain by you?"
"Yes, but I changed my mind. You are to stay here and await my return."
Following the narrow path, he quickly caught up to the others. Most of them appeared occupied, so he fell into step with one of the last of the party—a younger Elf, tall with dark hair, who smiled at him in greeting.
Mairon nodded in reply. "Where are you taking that?"
"To trade with the Naugrim," he answered, studying him longer. "Are you from the Falas? I do not recognize you."
Naugrim wasn't translating in his mind. "Yes."
"My father came from thence." His eyes clouded over while he spoke. "He would have gone on to the land of the gods, had one of the Maiar not changed his mind."
"Yes, they seem unable to stay away..." Mairon said more to himself, staring at the outline of Menegroth across the river.
The Elf looked to him. "Is there truly one whom they call Ossë, spoken of there?"
"Among others."
His eyes grew eager. "Then where are our kindred now, who crossed the sea?"
"It is best not to dwell on such things," Mairon advised him. "The gods have an agenda of their own that seems to hardly concern us."
He nodded gravely. "Yes, you are probably right. Though I would like to believe that it does."
Mairon raised an eyebrow and gazed at him; in response, the Elf raised his head and stared back questionably, but the Maia looked off and wondered to himself. They were such contradictory creatures...did they admire or despise the Valar?
The party passed through several villages, each alive with the sound of laughter as their nimble inhabitants darted away under the boughs of low-hanging trees. Their singing had grown louder and more numerous, but he did not bother listening, as he could tell from a few words that it was mainly nonsense.
"What is your name?"
His attention snapped back to the Elf beside him, who still watched him curiously.
He briefly considered telling him, to see if there might be some knowledge. But there would not be, of course, and he was grateful when those in front stopped and shouted for the supplies to be handed forth.
Mairon moved aside and let the Elves around him gradually unload the supplies and carry them up the procession. At the very front, across from the Sindar, the short creations of Aulë that Mairon had not even known lived yet stood in a line wielding armor and weaponry.
The Khazâd met with the Elves assembled there, speaking to them for some time before finally handing over weapons. The Elves meant to take more, but the crafters held back, probably demanding some form of payment.
From among the assemblage an Elf came forward bringing a basket of wrapped bread; the Khazâd accepted this and offered up more of their arms. When the transaction was completed, the two sides bowed respectfully to the other and parted ways, with the Khazâd wandering along the Esgalduin towards the edge of Region.
Mairon slipped away once the others had their backs to him, until they passed under the darker shadows of the trees; then he broke away from the crowd and followed them.
He studied their iron axes and chain mail, and his expert eyes were able to note the superiority in strength compared to weaponry of the Noldor.
They had lit a fire and now sat around it, some eating Lembas and others sharpening blades on a grinding wheel. Remaining well-hidden, he listened in to their conversation.
"What do you think they plan to do with weapons?" one asked in a rough tongue. "They do not appear to possess the stature to even wield them."
"Thingol merely displays them in his halls," another answered. "Spears and axes are but petty decorations to him."
"Why go to so much effort? He is clearly afraid and plans to use them."
"As we expect him to!" another said. "I will not labor for Thingol if he hordes weapons like treasure in his halls, even if he offered me endless portions of this leaf bread."
Without hesitation, Mairon walked out into the open.
They glanced up at his entrance yet paid him half a mind. Only one said anything in greeting; he was bulky, with strong arms and a thick red beard. He fixed his eyes on the intruder, and for a moment Mairon was taken aback at how much they resembled Aulë's.
"What is it, Elf?"
"I am something of a smith. I was admiring your handiwork."
The grinding wheel went silent as the Khazâd retracted their weapons and hid them from his view.
The depiction of Aulë snorted at those words. "The Sindar know very little about metal crafting."
Mairon smiled. "I am a rarity among my people."
"Oh, is that so? What do you make? Bracelets?"
"I am the maker of many weapons, such as yours." He motioned towards where they lay partially concealed. "There is no point in hiding them. I am very familiar with how they are forged."
He did not actually of course, and that was partly the reason he bluffed. It was frustrating to him that mere creations of Aulë could know what one of Aulë's greatest Maiar did not. But now it occurred to him that it had not been the right thing to say.
The humor in their eyes faded, replaced with distrust.
"An Elf, as great a smith as the Khazâd?" said a gray-bearded elder, shaking his head at the thought. "Why have we not met in the halls of Menegroth?"
"I do not waste my skill for the glory of Thingol. Neither should you."
He tried to move closer, to view their weaponry, but they were held back still.
"Such potential wasted, serving under an Elven king and doing his bidding, and for what?"
After sending one another knowing glances, they subtly reached for their weapons.
They jumped to their feet and surrounded him, enclosing him into a circle. He put up his hands and raised his eyebrows, making a show of acting startled.
The red-bearded Khazâd raised his axe and rested the blade against Mairon's chest.
"I am not certain of how you came to Eglador or why you claim to know so much, but we will readily do away with you, scum of Bauglir, if you dare use the foul words of your master against us."
Mairon made no movement for a few moments as he gazed down on his oppressors calmly, although he wondered how they knew of Melkor. He breathed in a deep sigh, as if giving in, while glancing around to view his options.
The Dwarves were not expecting him to fight back, so they were startled when the Maia transformed into a large black wolf and proceeded to jump over their heads, knocking them over before running off into the trees.
The Sindar had gathered together with their instruments and barrels of wine and mead and sat around a fire in the center of the clearing, where they began to play music while drinking out of silver goblets. As they partook in the celebration, the wraiths watched in horror from the shadows of the trees.
"We have to get out of here," the first one whispered to the second.
"And risk him coming after us?"
"He is not coming back. He is a liar, and did not serve the Great One at all."
"But he is not an Elf, surely. So what is he?"
The other glared at the dancing Elves, his mouth curling into a frown. "I do not know. But if we make for the north and he does not follow, then we know he is a liar."
"And if he does, then perhaps the Master will punish us..." he drifted off with a shudder. "Do you remember that?"
"Obviously. But I cannot envision someone so brash getting on well with the Master. How would he elude punishment?"
The third of their party appeared, somewhat shaken.
"Well? Did you find him?" they inquired.
"No, I hardly found my way back here," Ugdun said, casting a glance behind him. "They are acting strangely..."
"Yes, because they are Elves," another answered with a roll of his eyes.
A few of the Sindar, singing loudly, stumbled drunkenly over to where they were sitting. The wraiths quickly crept farther away, pulling the third down with them.
A twig snapped behind them and they quickly turned, only to find Mairon standing there instead. Sparks from the bonfire reflected in his eyes.
They got to their feet. "About ti—"
But to their surprise, he roughly shoved them further into the woods and they fell in the leaves again, waiting there in nervous anticipation. Metal glinted farther off in the trees. Loud voices were coming closer.
"What did you do?" they hissed.
He didn't answer.
Dwarves burst out of the foliage, brandishing their axes and shouting curses in their harsh language.
The Elves immediately stopped their merrymaking and looked on in shock. In the confusion, they had not seen noticed Mairon's entrance, and therefore interpreted the attack to be against themselves.
Using the chaos as a distraction, the company began to flee in the opposite direction. But guards had come running their way, alerted by the sounds of battle, and once they were spotted, they halted several feet away and drew back their bows.
Mairon pushed past them and companions followed close to his heels, shielding his form with their shadows from the arrows of the guards. Finding it futile to aim, the Elves reluctantly lowered their bows and returned to the eaves of the forest to report to Thingol.
They kept running, through the maze of mist and repeating pathways. He glanced back one last time to make sure they were not pursued, and when he faced forward again found they had been closed into a circle of orcs.
"Do we kill them?" one asked much too eagerly.
The orc standing before them beat a studded club lightly against his other hand. "No, I think Lord Mairon wants the captives alive."
Mairon dropped his guise and stood before them in his true form, glaring at the two blocking his path. "I am he, and what I want is a barrier here so none come through."
The startled orcs dropped their weapons, only to pick them up again in clumsy haste. But the captain did not move, studying Mairon fearfully.
He fell to his knees. "My lord, I did not kn—"
"All is well," he assured him. "You have followed my orders thus far, now do as I am commanding," Mairon said, pointing back from where they had come, and the orcs ran over and hid amongst the trees, keeping watch.
The wraiths had cautiously moved away from him after he had changed form, and he could see their legs quaking in fear.
"He is one of the Maiar! We will surely be punished," they cried, bemoaning their fate.
"Are you going to let us go now?" Ugdun asked hopefully.
Mairon looked down at him. "I must go and report to your master. But you fall under my dominion, and will report to me from now on."
The others eagerly rushed forward. "But we served you! Do we not receive some reward?"
"Perhaps so. Are there more of you?"
"Oh, yes. We are legion!"
"In that case – supposing all goes well - you may be granted your former positions."
Their faces lit up in excitement. "You shall have our undying loyalty!"
He was ascending the hilly slopes outside Dorthonion when he turned back and noticed two figures in the grass at the bottom start making their way up. Looking closer, he recognized the wolfen shapes of the spies.
"Mairon," they called out, climbing to where he was. "You have found a way into Doriath?"
"Indeed. Where are you coming from?"
"West of there, by the river Teiglin. The Master ordered us to stake out the surrounding lands so that he may develop a plan to siege Thingol."
"That seems rather sudden," he said, unable to hide his surprise.
"Yes, and we are ordered to make haste. We have yet to scout East Beleriand and must do that now. Expect word from us soon."
He watched them head off alongside Ered Gorgoroth until they were dark smudges in the distance, while he continued over the hills and past the forests before crossing onto the plain.
The Valacirca had all but vanished behind the clouds of smoke, and the last of its light could only be viewed from the plains outside the black gate. And even there the towers rose up and sought to block it out entirely, dwarfed only by the three mountains raised by Melkor.
Great plumes of smoke rolled out, followed by molten lava.
Mairon slowed down as they came into view, and beneath them took in the sight of a great multitude of orcs filing into Angband by the hundreds.
The earth shook violently beneath him, but it hindered him little now that he was accustomed to it. Immediately he took off after them, through the side route into the Iron Mountains and down into the earth. He lost the orcs at a turn, but kept descending until the darkness was too much for even his eyes and he had to rely on instinct.
Left, right, left, and left again, around slow-moving orcs, a sharp turn; on he plunged into the dark, the smoke from the pits rising up and threatening to suffocate him, until he saw the light of the Silmarils up ahead.
Melkor peered off through the haze while he brooded over some matter. Several fires cast long, dark shapes over the walls. He was not alone, but instead had gathered together many of his Maiar captains. From within the crowd, he saw Satarno raise his head and notice him enter.
Mairon pushed heedlessly past the hazy shapes in his way, ignoring their reactions. "My lord, what is—"
"Clever, Mairon," the Vala said calmly from the opposite end of the room. "How did you know I would need more orcs? I was informed you had brought me more."
"But what is the meaning?" he demanded, finally coming to a halt before the great throne. Shadows etched the hard lines in his features when he frowned. "Why are your servants gathering by the hundreds?"
"They are to serve among my hosts."
Mairon narrowed his eyes. "Hosts?"
"Obviously I am waging war..."
"Already you wage war? Against whom?"
He could see that his hastiness was testing Melkor's patience.
"Thingol..." the Vala answered slowly, uncomfortable with the many questions he was being asked.
"And what is your plan?"
"The details of my plan do not concern you."
"My lord, I have just returned from thence."
The Dark Lord stared at him for a moment. "Oh, yes. Go on."
"I was not able to get within close range of his dwelling, but I found that Thingol is harboring weapons—"
Immediately Melkor raised a hand to cut him off, simultaneously signaling off to his side. The thick darkness had prevented Mairon from seeing Gothmog standing there before, but now he stepped forward into the light radiating from the Silmarils.
Mairon understood, glaring at the both of them. "We do not yet understand his purposes—"
"Nor do I desire to subjugate myself by attempting to."
"What was the purpose of sending me, if your plan was already to raid Thingol?"
"I was not entirely certain..."
"But you have already made plans to do so."
Melkor turned his head. "Who told you that?"
Mairon stiffened and some of his confidence faltered.
"I asked you a question, Mairon."
"My lord's spies."
"My spies have been reporting to you?" His arm moved swiftly, striking Mairon along the side of the head. He looked to Gothmog for an explanation. "How long has this been going on?!"
The Balrog only shook his head in confusion, so he turned to Mairon again.
The blow had temporarily knocked him senseless, and for several seconds he kept his head bowed while recovering from the fact that he had just been hit. Then he quickly righted himself, although his eyes stayed lowered.
"I did not seek to conspire against you," he stated bluntly. "My lord was occupied and I took on the burden."
"I should think it was a burden, Mairon, had I not witnessed how naturally you establish yourself over my servants. Tell me, why should I not cast you out now?"
His response did not arrive immediately. Looking up, he could see Gothmog's eyes on him, only half-engaged in the present, and the rest of the Maiar had turned their attention to the ground once he'd been dealt the blow.
It was only Melkor who seemed entirely focused. Perhaps he imagined it, but Mairon thought he saw a flicker of hopefulness in the stone façade, the same he noticed when Melkor asked for his aid the first time, hoping to cover it up with arrogance to give off the impression that he would be fine without it.
But any sign of weakness vanished into a sneer as soon as it occurred to Melkor that his servant could be seeking mercy there. Mairon, however, was in no mood to pleasure him. The anger from earlier remained in him now, burning more intensely and he would not be taken for granted.
"I worked only for you, never against, as I swore to do in Valinor and so do now. I have built your fortress, trained your orcs-despite the greatest efforts to prevent my doing so, and your spies abide all over Beleriand. And so I cannot understand why my lord mistakes my loyalty for treachery."
Melkor stared hard at him. "Then would you expect me to trust you completely, despite your secretive actions?"
"Secretive only in that my lord is not concerned with them," he said plainly.
The truth in his words was evident, even to Melkor. He was unsure which emotion to display, and his expression changed from anger, to confusion, to deep thought until it became completely blank. But that he found unfitting, and settled on a scowl.
Gothmog scowled impatiently, thinking that Mairon had won. "And how long do you propose we hold it off? Until Thingol's hosts arrive at the gates?"
Mairon looked up at him, and his eyebrows lowered over his eyes. "But you have already refused my counsel. And besides, you do not need my help, as I recall."
The Dark Lord's countenance paled in surprise at the way he had been addressed, and he quickly gathered together all his anger and hardened his face into a glare.
"I want you out of my fortress."
Mairon's resilience left him, and he blinked a few times, thinking he had heard wrong. "...What? Where do you want me to go?"
"Where you go is hardly my concern."
Still he lingered there awkwardly, and Melkor waved forth his Maiar.
"Yes, I thought this might be difficult."
The captains brought down the restraints hanging from the walls, and carefully but surely surrounded him, while the Maia tried backing away. But he had nowhere to turn, and the other Maiar reached out and took hold of his arms and wrapped the chains tightly around them.
Mairon stared at the chains in a disgusted manner, as though he thought it blasphemous that they should even touch him.
"What are you doing?"
Most of the Maiar refused to look at him, following the order with listless expressions. Satarno gave him a look veiled in pity and turned his eyes away to avoid witnessing.
"Perhaps the Valar will assume I forced you into my service, and your own deceitful nature will never be questioned," Melkor said more to himself. His words sounded bitter, but his face appeared confused and pensive, and he was staring off elsewhere rather than at Mairon.
The chains were fastened to his wrists and the Maiar grabbed hold of the ends, tugging him after them into the mountain. The turns were sharp, but they did not stop to see if he made it through. He was stuck in several, and they would pull until he came free. His hoarse shouting echoed through the tunnels, growing in volume every time he was thrown into the rock walls or dragged over his hair. He yelled and pleaded the Vala's name, but Melkor sat quietly and gave no notion that he heard.
Cold air hit his face once the walls of the fortress fell away, and the Maiar escorting him out threw him onto the ground a few feet from the doors. Then they spun around and walked back the other way without saying a word.
The black gates he had built clanged shut behind him.
Mairon jumped to his feet and faced them, pushing on the doors in some irrational hope they would open. He raised his leg to kick them, but such was their durability that he dropped back down on his knees and keeled over in pain, shouting up at the sky and sharing his frustration with the silent mountains. But the wind stole his voice away, carrying it whichever way it went.
For a long time he sat outside the gates, numb to the cold. But he immediately snapped to attention when he recognized low, dark shapes creeping over the plain, coming straight towards him.
He used the flat surface behind him to help him stand, hiding his cuffed hands behind his back. The Maia angled himself to the side to cover up any signs of injury and greeted the two canines nonchalantly.
"All is ready for the siege," they informed him. "We selected the best angles of attack and sent the message to the spies in Ard-Galen to take to the Master, which is more efficient, as you have said."
"Oh, good," he answered weakly, struggling to hold his head upright.
Once they went on their way and left him alone again, he searched amongst the instruments he carried for one to use to break his bonds. Taking a chisel, he sawed through the iron chains and discarded them, before beginning to trudge through the empty plains.
He had not the faintest idea of where he was going. His surroundings passed by as a blur, becoming less familiar as the miles wore on. He was vaguely aware of the peaks of Ered Luin at his back, and the trees growing thicker and surrounding him on all sides. Under the shadows of their eaves, he collapsed at last, where even the keen eyes of Melkor's spies could never find him, unseen to all but the ever-watchful stars.
