A/N: As a warning, this is a war chapter and thus there is a good share of battle violence.
There was an unusual crow perched just outside the tower. After he observed it for some time, and deduced that it was waiting for something, or someone, the Maia went out and came to stand a few feet away.
The bird's beady eyes fixed on him, but it did not move from its position. Once he was close enough, the crow stretched out one of its feet, revealing a thin scroll inserted into the feathers around its leg. Mairon carefully reached for the scroll and unrolled the parchment.
Finding the page blank, he walked over to one of the braziers beside the door and held the scroll above the flames until the text started to appear:
I inquire of your location and how you fare.
I do this without Melkor's knowledge, and attest that no part of it is at his bidding.
It was signed simply your ally.
Mairon burned the scroll in the fire and again approached the crow.
"I know you can speak," he told it. "And I am not taking the risk of writing a message that may fall into the wrong hands. Therefore, inform Satarno of my location and how I appear to be faring. Also inquire if he can tell me anything about Melkor's war plans, that I may know how to proceed."
The crow made a motion like a nod and fluffed its feathers before spreading its wings for take-off, soaring over the trees to the north where it disappeared.
In the meantime, he began to fashion a set of armor for himself, as well as numerous iron swords. He fed several fires until they reached the desired heat, and afterwards worked on altering the shape of the metal, sweating in between the intensity of the flames and the pounding of his hammer.
At least an hour had passed before some light object fell on him out of the sky, and Mairon glanced up to see a crow circling overhead and cawing loudly.
He picked the scroll off the ground, this one much larger than the last. Flames revealed the outline of a map, and the Maia hurried inside the tower to spread it out on a table. Then he stepped back and waited for the entire picture to finish developing.
It turned out to be a sketch of upper and lower Beleriand, with arrows leading from Angband to the east and west and coming down to surround Eglador from both sides. For a long time Mairon studied it, a grin spreading across his face.
"Yes," he whispered excitedly.
Melkor's plan must have been to cut Thingol off from his allies- not a bad plan at all, and Mairon was glad he had prevented inference in it.
Without much thought, but too overjoyed to care, he ran out the door towards Ered Gorgoroth and around the mountainous fence to the pass leading to the valley. When he reached the bottom he paused, taking deep breaths of air and peering down at the watchtower in the distance. Lights and voices reached him from the grassy hill where the tower stood, alerting him to the presence of orcs hard at work in preparation.
It took all his willpower to keep from going over there, but in the end, he contented himself with merely watching from afar, as visions and plans began to brim and boil in his mind.
Melkor was not going to exclude him. This was his chance- he would earn the Vala's trust back.
Eventually, Mairon took a break from his own preparations and sat against one of the mountains, dozing with his head on his chest.
Something woke him. As he listened, he became aware of guttural voices and hundreds of trampling feet on the opposite side of the mountain where he slept. The Maia climbed up through a cleft between the shoulders of two mountains and looked out across the valley, discovering a great host of orcs coming down from the north and into upper Beleriand. The light of their torches revealed every one of them was dressed in armor and wielding swords or spiked clubs.
Being now wide awake, Mairon climbed down and returned to his forging area, where he pushed on the bellows to bring the fires back to life and worked with even greater haste than before. By the time he was finished, a crowd of dark shapes had gathered before him.
"You summoned us?" the wraiths asked.
He tossed each of them a sword, regardless of whether they were prepared to catch it.
"I've spent many hours forging these, so I expect you learn how to use them."
Their gaunt arms tried lifting the swords and swinging them around, but more often than not their aim strayed, and they ended up slicing through one another's wispy bodies.
The Maia raised his eyes to the sky and muttered under his breath.
He came up behind them and grabbed the blade before they could swing again, adjusting their hands around the hilt and straightening the angle of their arms. Then he came back around to the front and picked up his own sword to demonstrate.
"Observe," he told them, bringing his sword forward in a neat arc, keeping the sharp edge parallel, and finished by driving the blade directly into the ground.
Keeping their arms exactly how he'd positioned them, the wraiths copied his maneuver.
"I'm guessing it has been a few thousand years since you've been in any kind of battle, so I'm going to refresh your memory," he said, and leaping up to a higher point on the mountainside, taught them a series of battle positions. Taking his hands apart meant the army should split into two parts, whereas bringing them back together indicated they were to join into one. Next, the Maia abruptly faced forward, and the wraiths turned that way; likewise, he turned around, and they did the same. Then they crouched, only to get back on their feet once he gave the signal.
"Well done," Mairon said. "You might actually have a chance."
They were finally ready to depart for battle. His army was coming down the pass through Ered Gorgoroth, when rocks began to break off the steep sides of the path, followed by the sound of multiple creatures dragging themselves to the top at once.
Mairon cautiously backed away from the edges as the cliffs around them became overrun by giant spiders climbing up from Nan Dungortheb.
"These are our friends," the wraiths assured him. "They've agreed to help us fight."
"Well I certainly cannot say no to that," he said. "Just keep them under control."
"They are individual, rational beings, Mairon. We have no way of controlling them."
He sighed in exasperation. "None of you truly have any idea when to stop talking."
The Maia let his gaze sweep across the valley, lingering on the west. A multitude of bright, moving specks moving in an organized pattern caught his attention. Their armor and the flag waving at the head of the procession identified them as Thingol's allies from the Falas.
He redirected his focus to the forestland due south of his current location, and he waved his host onward. "Let us go in stealth, lest the enemy spot us before we do them."
For the first part of their trek, the mountainous region hid them from view; but over the plain and from there into the woods, the army crept in single file to disguise their numbers. He was counting on the conflict already being at its climax, so that few would be expecting additional forces from the north.
Once concealed by the shadows of the forest, the army slowed down, stepping lightly to avoid detection. Mairon stayed in the lead, and the rest of them carefully mimicked his movements.
"I know you're afraid, being the youngest of your siblings," Ugdun was speaking quietly to the spider on his head, "but remember, it's not about the size of the spider in the fight: it's the size of the fight in the spider. Just think about how much you detest Elves—that always works for me."
"Thank you," his fellow wraiths told him.
"I wasn't talking to you."
"Be quiet," Mairon told them all. He stood still and listened closely for any sounds of battle in the surrounding forest. He thought he discerned a shout and a clashing of metal in the distance and motioned for his army to follow him.
"Remember your training," he said, placing a ready hand on his sword.
"We know how to kill," his soldiers assured him.
They tried to push past him to get to the battle, but Mairon blocked their entry with his arm as well as a stern glare.
"Yes, as you command," they obliged him.
Mairon peered through the undergrowth at a clearing stained red with blood and covered with piles of discarded armor. Thingol's soldiers, garbed all in green save their gray armor, had the advantage, and with the help of their allies were driving the orcs back and slaughtering them in heaps.
The Maia looked back at his army. "It appears we've come at the right time."
After telling them to wait on his signal, Mairon crossed into the clearing and stood off to the side, behind the Sindarin ranks. The archers caught sight of him, however, and little time had passed after his appearance before an arrow was shot in his direction.
The Maia caught it just inches before it pierced the skin. He stared in the direction it came from as he broke the arrow in half with his hand.
The archer who shot it slowly lowered his bow, his hands quaking.
But it was already too late to retreat. The first to enter were the wraiths, and they swooped in on the unsuspecting Sindar like heavy fog on what had been a clear night. Next, they were followed by a mass of legs and fangs shooting out sticky webs over the enemy armies.
Among the orc hosts, one of the captains spotted Mairon, and he was immediately filled with relief. They made eye contact, and the Maia acknowledged him with a slight nod.
Boldog lifted his sword, turning around to motion to his armies. "Forward! Keep on!"
The orcs rushed forth now that the Elves were distracted, quickly regaining the ground they had lost. They picked up the weapons of their fallen comrades and dropped their shields, using two swords in combat.
"For the Great One!" the wraiths cried as they threw themselves at the Sindar, digging their clawed hands into the Elves' eyes to confuse them, and they stumbled around blindly in a shadowy haze.
Mairon crossed the battlefield, uncontested by any of the soldiers. Boldog ran over and bowed his head before him.
"I had faith you would return, my lord."
The Maia unsheathed his sword, placing the edge lightly against the orc's shoulder. "It was no error, it would seem, entrusting these armies to your command."
He spun around and slew the soldier attempting to creep up on him from behind, and then approached the line of archers who hid back from the center of the battle. They turned to flee, but Mairon seized each of them by their hair and cut them down.
He felt blood splatter on his face, and when he looked down he saw the river Teiglin running red, and wherever he turned there were lifeless eyes staring back at him.
But he closed his own, and imagined himself in the forests of Dorthonion, in the form of a beast lusting for the blood of its prey. No, it did not shock him; it fueled him now. With his eyes closed, his other senses became more attuned, and he felt the vibrations in the air of spears hurtling towards him, smelled the blood of his wounded opponents.
He opened them again when he heard loud shouting coming from the other side of the field. A new figure had entered the ranks, one whose face shined brighter, whose armor shined more radiant than those around him. Thingol looked out from under his plumed helmet at the state of the battle, and his gaze eventually landed on Mairon.
The latter thought he saw fear cross the king's face, but the Sinda concealed this and raised his sword in preparation for battle. Mairon narrowed his eyes and strode towards him with purpose.
However, as he was heading that way one of the king's guards grabbed his arm and said something to him, and Thingol quickly turned and fled from the scene as suddenly as he had arrived.
Mairon pursued his retreating figure into the forest, determined to keep Thingol in his sight, but the Elf vanished in the maze of pathways and the Maia saw that he was not alone in here.
He realized this way had been a trap of sorts—he was surrounded by Thingol's soldiers. Mairon backed into the very center of the circle, trying to keep them away with the point of his sword. As the Elves became more daring and lunging closer with their spears, the Maia ran his hand along the blade, and flames ignited over the length of his sword.
The branches of the trees creaked above them, and a black blob with eight legs crashed into the circle, biting off the head of one of the soldiers. Mairon took advantage of the opportunity and pushed the headless body aside to escape.
As he ran, he could hear the Sindar pursuing him, but now he had the advantage. He turned, and as they rushed forward one at a time, he picked each of them up and plunged his flaming sword through their middle.
In front of him, several guards also lay in wait. But the Maia roughly pushed them off to the side, only grabbing and lifting one of their number above his head. Looking up at him, he knew this had been the same guard he had deceived on entering Doriath, and he could see the recognition beginning to form in the other's eyes. But he tightened his grip, and as he broke the neck the gray eyes became empty.
At last he returned to the clearing, and the orcs rallied when they saw him. They were certainly winning this fight, and the Elves must have known this.
"Fall back!" they yelled to one another.
The Sindar ducked into the protective eaves of the forest, where the orcs would not be able to trace them, but the soldiers from the Falas had to turn and retreat across the plain. Melkor's hosts were right at their tail, driving them back the entire way. The wraiths at first hesitated to risk the exposure of the plains, but Mairon held out his hand and a second later they were thrust forward to join the rest. Spiders snatched up whomever they could, dragging their corpses over the ground and wrapping them in webs.
A defeated host reached the kingdom of the Falas, and they shut the orcs out with their stone walls and shot arrows down from their towers. Melkor's hosts turned back and went the other way, hopeful to hear news from the other front.
Like it had worn off before, the lust for battle was slowly fading from him. Mairon wiped the sweat from his brow and then held out his hands, gazing blankly at the blood that now stained them.
Several orcs were sitting down and tending to their wounds or dragging their comrades off the battlefield. Giant spiders scavenged the plain for corpses. One of them, smaller than the others, lay in the grass with a stab wound in its leg.
Ugdun noticed this. "Shelob! No!" He threw down his sword and raced over to the spider, picking her up and wrapping his arms around her bulbous waist. "It's okay," he soothed, "I'm here now."
The orc captain beside him laughed. "You gave it a name?"
Ugdun glared at him. "She is female. Show some respect."
He took a step back, holding up his hands. "Sorry."
The host moved aside for an orc who came riding with frantic haste through their ranks on top a warg. He drew his beast beside Boldog and leaned down to speak to the captain.
Boldog gave the messenger a nod, immediately starting to walk towards Mairon.
"Our armies on the eastern front have been defeated, but they did manage to kill an Elf leader of the Laiquendi, Denethor, before Thingol arrived to avenge him," he informed the Maia.
Mairon sheathed his sword with disappointment. "I should have kept pursuing him."
"We are grateful for your help here, lord. Melkor will surely hear of this. Although to be fair, he is more preoccupied with capturing Lúthien than slaying Thingol."
"And who is that?"
"It is his daughter, lord. She is said to be fairest of all creatures outside of Aman, being both Elf and Maia."
Of course. Another treasure for Melkor to covet.
Mairon came forward to address the crowd. "You have all performed well. Rest for your journey north, and upon your return make sure Melkor knows of the success here in his name." With that, he began gathering his own hosts to prepare for departure.
Boldog followed him. "And where will you go, lord?"
"Wherever I will. But this is not yet the last time you see me, Boldog. That I know."
As he tried to enter with his army through the forest, the Maia was met with a powerful barrier that prevented him from crossing into it- a large improvement to the spell Melian had cast prior.
He responded with a disgruntled nod of acceptance. "We go the long way."
The clanking of iron armor dominated the tense halls of Angband, as the dark lord's Maiarin captains descended into the deepest regions of the fortress, only coming to a halt before the dais which held Melkor's throne.
The Vala had been expecting his captains to bring him tidings of war, and as soon as they entered the throne room he tried reading their expressions to deduce the outcome himself.
"Your host in the west was victorious, my lord. The Sindar are fenced in, and their allies driven back to the shores," Gothmog reported.
The Vala got up from his seat and approached the line of captains, searching each of their faces.
"Well, who have I to reward? And do not bother lying. I will find out."
Gothmog avoided his eager stare with a roll of his eyes. "Gorthaur, my lord."
Melkor paused mid-step and frowned as he tried to think. "I don't know who that is," he confessed.
Gothmog clenched his jaw as he tried to compose himself. "It's Mairon, my lord. That is what the Sindar are calling him."
The Vala slowly turned his head, but his face remained uncertain. "Mairon? The one I cast out? How can he be the one?"
The Balrog shrugged, inhaling deeply.
"I thought there was only one Mairon?" another of the captains spoke up, but Gothmog quickly dealt him a jab to the face, and the latter turned aside to nurse his wound.
The hall stayed fixed in a nervous silence while Melkor paced up and down the black stone floor.
What position had he promised Mairon? He tried to remember, but his mind kept drawing blanks. It must have been something high, based on the way the Maia exerted himself. Melkor just hoped he had not been so desperate as to offer second-in-command. He had every intention of keeping that forever vacant.
"My lord."
Melkor swiveled his head towards the voice. "What?!"
Satarno bowed his head to speak humbly. "Perhaps he still has loyalty towards you. Why else would he provide us aid in battle?"
"Mairon is a traitor and shall not be spoken of. Do not pester me regarding that."
The Maia turned away with something like disappointment.
Melkor scowled. Why did everyone admire him?
"Go, return to your duties," Melkor ordered the captains with a dismissive wave of his hand. But his eyes lingered on Taryamo, and before the Maia could leave with the rest, Melkor pointed to him. "…except for you."
The huntsman turned in surprise, indicating to himself questionably.
Melkor waited until the hall was empty save for them two. "Go find Mairon," he said in a low voice.
Taryamo blinked. "Mairon? But I thought he was—"
"Do not question my orders. Find him and bring him to me."
The Maia opened his mouth to speak, but quickly shut it again and bowed his head to the Vala. "As you say."
His hosts had been energized by the battle, however tired they were afterwards. Yet Mairon felt only fatigued and somewhat despondent, though he had little idea why.
Had he not been victorious? Would Melkor not be appreciative?
Yes, he certainly believed both of those. But when his mind was allowed to drift, it settled on the showers of blood, on the hundreds of dead, pale faces.
Was it guilt? Or was it the musings of a Maia in Valinor, who would cringe at just the thought of such carnage? These must have been his emotions that he was experiencing.
He knelt by a stream, and there removed his armor and washed off his hands. The crimson residue flowed along its course and disappeared around a bend, but that did not offer much relief.
The Maia felt a heavy hand on the shoulder of his tunic. He glanced down at the water, analyzing the person's touch. It radiated heat, but was not overwhelming, being more like the initial sparks of a furnace; it was also firm, yet surprisingly gentle, the same way one was supposed to hold a hammer.
The rippled surface of the stream faded, replaced by orange and yellow flames melting a metal object. Molten fragments dripped off the edges and spilled out of the furnace into a refuse vat.
Mairon watched the whole time, waiting until it was completely gone.
"It was a mistake," spoke the deep voice at his shoulder. "Mistakes are necessary if we are to learn, to sharpen our skills, to know our limits. Much of craftsmanship is trial and error, but that makes the final product all the greater."
"It is corrupted," Mairon spat in disgust, "it is nothing like the pure, perfect things I saw in the vision. It needs to be destroyed."
Behind him, Aulë sighed heavily. "That is up to you. But I think you might be too selective, Mairon. Everything has its place."
The Maia set his bright eyes on the Vala. "I am not selective. Conflict has no place in Arda, and that is what I see in its composition."
Aulë smiled fondly at him. "I shan't ever worry you will create conflict, Mairon. It is not in your nature."
The Maia faced the fire again, beaming a little and hiding a smile.
The master smith indicated to the liquid metal remaining. "The good thing about this substance is that you can melt it down and begin again."
Water droplets splashed on his face, startling Mairon from his thoughts and making him gasp. He opened his eyes to find the spirits of Mandos standing above him on the shore.
"This is an ideal place to live," they were saying, "but there is too much water. We don't care for the stuff- water gives you visions of things that aren't there."
The Maia sprang to his feet and hurried to retrieve his armor from the sand. "You can always leave if it does not meet your expectations. Perhaps the spider-infested caves of the mountains will be more to your liking."
They stared in silence as he walked away, casting confused glances at one another.
"What's wrong with him?"
Nuin was waiting anxiously for him in the clearing where Thû normally appeared. The Elf moved his head in every direction, as if unsure where he was going to pop out from.
But when the Maia came walking on the usual path, purposely snapping a twig underfoot, Nuin noticed him and broke into a smile. He took hold of his arm and led him through the village, showing him how they were progressing.
"The walls are under constant watch," he said, pointing to their left at the guards armed with spears before the gates, "and we have developed several workshops," he added, pointing to their right, where craftsmen struck their hammers against anvils to create a range of metal weaponry.
Nuin next brought them over to where Elves stood in a circle comparing adornment pieces they had made.
"Ahem," he coughed, indicating to Mairon with just his eyes. "Shouldn't you be doing other things right now?" he told them.
Mairon looked to him in surprise. Nuin knew him, without knowing him.
At his urging, the crafters put away their trinkets and walked off, and Nuin went up to the worktable and began clearing away the remnants of their creations.
As he observed him, the Maia deduced that the Elf seemed tense. His eyes kept darting around, and he was somehow more hyperactive than usual, running back and forth as he put away the metal casts and precious stones.
He waited for some explanation, but when none came he asked, "What troubles you, Nuin?"
The Elf gave a defeated sigh and reluctantly faced him. "Will you take me with you on your travels, Thû?"
Mairon gave him a curious smile. "I thought your place was here?"
Nuin toyed nervously with the bracelets on his arms. "I will go, if you are with me."
The Maia studied him, impressed by his sudden change of heart. "Yes, I will."
Nuin lunged forward, nearly breaching the table between them in his eagerness. "Do you swear it?"
His automatic response was "yes, my lord," but he caught himself. This promise was not so binding of course, but the Elf's eyes were locked hopefully on his.
"Yes, I swear."
Nuin became overwhelmed by anxiety and ran off to go stare at the stars. But his excitement must have won over, because he came back with his eyes alight. The Maia gazed into them, and the eyes of the Sindar flashed through his mind. He was suddenly staring up at the guard he'd killed, watching the life slowly drain out of his face.
"The stars have shown that it shall be so!" the Elf announced.
Mairon shook his head to clear the images, and then frowned. "The stars?"
"Yes. I shall see the sea and the west, and it will be because of you."
He tried to swallow, but found his throat was too dry. Nuin, however, did not seem disturbed by his own prophecy. In fact, he looked more blissful than he ever had.
Leaving Nuin to his fantasies, the Maia went out to walk alone through the forest. All the while, he gazed up at the stars, confused as to how Nuin had seen the future in them.
He stopped and searched the area to make sure he was truly alone, before addressing the white gems glittering in the night sky.
"Will Melkor ever grant me back into his service?" he asked of them.
As soon as he spoke the words aloud, he felt foolish. All the stars did in response was more of their twinkling. What did that mean? Yes? No?
Giving a hopeless sigh, he kept walking. But he hadn't gone far when a shadow darted out from under the trees to block his path. Barely a second passed in which he was pinned roughly against a tree, a blade pressed against his throat.
Mairon was staring back into the eyes of one of Taryamo's hunters, who so long ago it seemed had trained him to be one of them.
"Have you seen a Maia near here?" the huntsman asked him. "Answer truthfully, and your death will be swift."
Mairon tried to shake his head beneath the restrictive hold. "You won't learn anything this way. I'm disappointed."
The blade was pulled away partly and its bearer squinted at him. "Mairon?" He looked him up and down. "Why are you dressed like…that?"
"That is my own business," he replied.
The hunter returned the knife to his belt. "Whatever. Taryamo sent me- Lord Melkor demands you return to him at once."
He tried not to show how relieved he was to hear that, and he decided to play hard to get.
"Does he? Hmm…I shall consider this offer. Come back to me at a later time."
The other Maia crossed his arms. "There is no room for negotiation. It is an order."
"I am actually quite comfortable here. What do I receive in compensation?"
"A less harsh beating."
Mairon laughed. "You are all the same, all of Melkor's lords. But fret not- I will come with you."
He removed his disguise to assume a more recognizable appearance. When he started to head towards the fortress, however, the other Maia stood in his way.
"Don't be so cocky," he told Mairon. "You are a prisoner, and you best humble yourself when you arrive."
Begrudgingly, the Maia took his place behind the huntsman.
For the first hour they walked in silence, climbing steep hills and crossing gorges as they came nearer to the north. Finally, the huntsman glanced back at Mairon with a humorous smile.
"Did you go insane out there?" he asked jokingly.
"Insane? From the forest?" Mairon answered with a tinge of disbelief. "How can you speak so? Isn't that your domain?"
The other Maia rolled his eyes, and they continued in silence.
After another mile, Mairon unexpectedly walked into the huntsman.
"Umph!" he muttered, promptly backing up from the other Maia. "See? I should have gone in front."
He waited for them to begin walking again, but the huntsman did not budge. He seemed to be staring some distance off at a commotion on the plain, not far from the gates of Angband.
The Maia of Aulë peered around his shoulder. A large host of orcs had left the fortress in battle array, but they were not taking the route to Beleriand. Instead, they were headed in the direction of Hithlum, and beyond there, the Helcaraxë.
"What's happening?" Mairon inquired, moving closer to watch.
The Maia of Oromë must have been just as confused by the sight, but he reached out and prevented the other Maia from going any further.
"Nothing of your concern," the huntsman replied tersely.
He led Mairon towards an alternative entrance east of the main gates, and before the latter could get a better look at the retreating host, the Maia practically pushed him the rest of the way into the fortress.
