When the Maia's shadow fell on the guards positioned just inside the entrance to the fortress, they backed up a few steps, whispering fearfully to each other. Only after he walked past did their words reach him: "The black captain."
He was intrigued by that title, and only realized the reason for it when he caught sight of his reflection in a square shield posted on the wall. His hair was streaked black with ash erupting from Thangorodrim's peaks. He tried rubbing it out, but his efforts succeeded only in smudging the ash all over his hands. He held them up close to his face, struck by the resemblance to the burns on Melkor's palms.
But he did not have time to clean himself up, for immediately upon his return he was summoned again to Melkor- this time with orders to pretend the prior meeting had never happened, and to act surprised when the Vala announced it publicly.
He quickly brushed his hands off on his belt and made for the Great Hall.
Melkor's imposing form was visible from the hallway through the opened doors. He was leaned sideways in the chair, unmoving except to make slight motions with his hands. Like puppets, his servants ordered themselves in the Great Hall in a manner to his liking, while the Balrogs looked on beside the throne.
"Mairon." The name echoed off the stone walls of the hall. Like all his words, it was deliberate, deep, menacing… and yet the Maia felt that for once the Vala had spoken his name with true meaning. It was not merely a collection of articulated sounds and syllables, nor did it refer to a concept, or some distant presence the Vala invoked to do his bidding. It was an individual. Like the well-worn edges of a hammer, the familiar fit of a handle in the grip of the hand it was made for… that was the purpose of a name. He had not heard his name spoken in such a way for too long- it was uttered so uncouthly on these shores.
The captains who were already present glanced at the door, and he could sense their confusion. This is for him? their faces read.
The Vala motioned them to stay put with one hand, and with his other he ushered Mairon to come forth. The latter did as he was instructed, yet he could not help but feel that it was not merely his own will leading him.
As he crossed the full length of the hall, the eyes of the other Maiar closed in on him. He tried blocking out their expressions of jealousy, anger, and apprehension: after all, he had no reason to fear those who were now beneath him. He did not come to a halt until he was standing directly in front of the throne.
The Vala pointed to the floor at his feet. "Kneel."
He obeyed, kneeling below the dais and bringing his head down.
The Vala held out his left hand. A semi-circle of attendants congregated in the shadows behind his throne, and now one came to offer up a longsword with one knee bent, his head bowed and his arms outstretched in humble offering. Melkor accepted it.
The echo of footsteps on the steps grew louder and closer to Mairon. Melkor's presence was announced with a cold gust of wind on his flesh, and strands of hair trembled in front of his face.
He raised his neck slightly to see, and he felt the cold blade slightly puncture the skin. It was a good thing he had not straightened any more, or the blade would have gone clean through.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted his eyes the rest of the way. Under the gems of purest light, the eyes of blackest night resembled holes in a mask of skin so pale it appeared grayish. A tongue of bright flame flickered in the deep recesses. His gloved hand pressed the sword's edge against the vulnerable area directly above the collar of the Maia's tunic.
Mairon's shoulders barely rose as he breathed shallow breaths to avoid further contact with the blade. His gaze was hard and determined, yet he relaxed his jaw to appear more composed.
Melkor thrust the sword in a fraction further. "Swear your undying loyalty to the throne of Angband," he ordered.
The Maia stiffened, gasping for air to be able to speak the words. "I swear my undying loyalty to the throne of Angband," he wheezed.
His vision cleared, and the pressure lessened as the sword was retracted. Melkor backed up onto the next step and gave an impatient nod. "On your feet."
He rose from his kneeling position. Rather unexpectedly, the Vala roughly grabbed his arm and held it above his head, wrapping his own hand around the Maia's wrist.
The crowd assumed by that action that they were supposed to applaud, but Gothmog remained silent, arms crossed, watching with a sadistic grin.
The burning sensation spread down his arm and set his whole being aflame. Tears pricked his eyes and his face contorted as he struggled to keep from crying out. Melkor's eyes bore down on him without emotion, and he found he could not look into them for very long.
The Vala's voice was so close that it seemed to echo within the Maia's head: "I give the power, and I take it away."
He was close to fainting. Once the Vala released him, he collapsed onto the hard surface underneath. His heartbeat was in his temples, and his body felt as lifeless as a corpse. In his mind, he felt he was falling into an endless chasm in the earth, the night sky and stars gradually fading out of view. Fire flashed before his vision, and flames surrounded him, pulling him in. The heat was too intense…he was melting…melting away…
One of his hands twitched. The hall's occupants had descended into silence while they watched and waited. Mairon shakily grabbed the edge of a step and used it to pull himself up. His limbs were rubbery, and there was no feeling in his fingertips. With a final burst of strength, he reached his full height and turned to face the crowd.
"The lieutenant of Angband!" Melkor announced behind him. He clapped the Maia's back, pushing him a few feet forward.
Gothmog uncrossed his arms and gave his lord a skeptical glare. "We don't have that position here."
Melkor cradled the longsword in both hands. "Well, we do now."
Willingly or not, the Orcs and their captains bowed their heads in Mairon's direction. The hall still looked fuzzy, and his gaze swept over the crowd without identifying anyone. Standing just above and behind him, Melkor carefully watched his face.
As he was leaving, the way being instantly cleared for his passage, he noticed Taryamo standing on the edge of the crowd nearest him. The Maia met his eyes, and the huntsman's face was stoic, unreadable. If he was bothered, it was impossible to tell.
Mairon stood stiffly with his arms outstretched in his quarters while the attendants he'd been newly given outfitted him as a lieutenant.
Satarno leaned back on a couch, twirling a gold band around the width of his arm. He had the melancholic gleam he often wore now in his eyes. When he grew bored of fidgeting with his bracelets, he set a hand under his chin and glanced over the other craftsman's black apparel.
"Does your arm still hurt?" he asked Mairon curiously, adjusting the metal diadem that kept his russet-colored hair behind his ears.
"Yes, but it has dulled to only a throbbing," the Maia answered. He stretched out his left hand and gently flexed it. "Interesting how the sensation was as an intense burning, yet there is no indication of redness."
"Probably another of Melkor's many illusions…"
"I have you to thank," Mairon gratefully said on a sudden, breaking into a smile. "If it were not for you, I would not be in this position."
Satarno shook his head. He got up from his seat and turned away, crossing his arms behind his back. "Please, do not attribute this to me," he said.
"There is no need for jealousy, Satarno!" Mairon laughed. "I will place you in every high position of power." As one of his attendants fastened the gloves over his wrists, he flinched with the contact on his burned skin. He shoved the servant away and put them on himself.
"There are other incentives, besides power," Satarno pointed out.
Mairon tilted his head. "Then what do you desire? Name your price, I will give it."
The other Maia lowered his face, pressing his thumbs against his temples. "Only to undo things I've done."
The lieutenant squinted at him. "Why are you speaking in riddles? Just say it!"
"It is a desire that cannot be granted, that is the point," Satarno explained. His voice became slightly harsh, but when he turned around again to look at his friend, his expression softened.
"Leave us," Mairon ordered his attendants.
He waited until they were alone in the room. "What pains you?" he demanded. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. Have the other Maiar harassed you for aiding me? They will be punished for it, I assure you."
When Satarno remained silent, Mairon grew frustrated. "I am the highest under Melkor. There are none who will be able to harm you," he said.
Regardless of his assurances, Satarno still refused to share whatever consumed his mind. Too exhausted to argue, and in dire need of recovery from his ordeal, Mairon gave up interrogating him to lay down and rest on the couch. He clutched his injured arm to his chest and felt waves of heat radiating outwards from where Melkor had made contact, but he managed to relax enough to begin healing.
In his sleep, he rolled over, and his shoulder bumped a lantern. Startled awake, he sat up and noticed the lamp lit with flame, for Satarno was sitting by the window only a few feet away. Without giving it much thought he turned on his side, so the light would not bother his tired eyes, but just as he was dozing off again, something caught his attention.
Faintly spoken words spilled into the fogginess of his dreams. He sharpened his focus to listen, and to his surprise, recognized parts of an old song. It was a hymn the Maiar used to sing to the Valar – very ancient, one of the very first in Mairon's memory. Satarno was reciting the verse dedicated to Varda while he stared through the window pane at the stars twinkling within the gaps of dark clouds.
When the other Maia looked his way, Mairon immediately pretended to be asleep; but he stayed awake for hours afterwards, trying to comprehend just what was going on.
As soon as he was able, the lieutenant went to check on his old dwelling in the shaded woodlands of Dorthonion. His horse nickered from afar when she spotted him coming to the glade where she lounged in the dark grass. The Maia ran his hand across her smooth, black neck before ascending the steps to the entrance of his old headquarters. He found that the tower was currently occupied by the spirits of Mandos. They looked relatively pleased to see him, opening the door before he could.
"Welcome, welcome! Come in, you are one of us!"
Yes, it is my tower, he thought with annoyance. He entered the front hall and saw it had been completely taken over by their gruesome décor.
"What happened since last we met? You are dressed differently," they observed.
"I've been promoted to lieutenant."
They each came up to clap his shoulder. "Well done, well done! How is Melkor? Does he ever talk about us?"
"All the time," he lied.
"Makes sense. We were his only friends in Valinor. Come, sit with us," they invited. "Tell us the affairs of Angband!"
He obliged them and sat at the round table, finding that he was eager to speak of it with an outsider. One of them was weaving a tapestry, plucking each stained thread with its slender fingers. The other two sat down on either side of the Maia and eagerly leaned in to listen.
The Maia began his tale recounting the battles of Beleriand against the Sindar, and then moved on to the arrival of the Noldor in the north. He described the death of Fëanor by Gothmog, a being of both shadow and flame, and the capture and sentencing of Maedhros to hang from the highest peak of Thangorodrim. Melkor's negative reaction to the rising of the sun and moon he also related, and he ended with the appointing of himself as lieutenant.
"I had an old friend among the servants of Melkor," he explained. "A great craftsman. He has proven much help to me. There are many adversaries around you at all times… to find one who is loyal is rare." The Maia racked his brain. "I do not understand," he vented. "Why go to so much trouble so that I succeed, and then appear to be disappointed with the outcome?"
"I do not know. We are not good with emotion," the spirits of Mandos replied.
"No, but you must still have desires. Otherwise you would not have followed Melkor."
"That is true. Right now, we have a very intense desire," said the one that was weaving, and it stopped its work to glare at the window. "To be rid of the sun and moon!"
"You and every Orc," Mairon told it.
"Perhaps we have not sacrificed enough," one of its fellows suggested.
"Why did we give our support to Melkor if he will not fulfill his promises?" another complained.
They started arguing among themselves, with Mairon trapped in the middle. "He destroyed the Two Trees just as he promised. Don't be so faithless," the others shot back.
"We should have stayed in the Halls of Mandos, where it is always dark!" The spirit's expression was somber, more so than usual. Its shoulders sagged, and the brows fell heavy over its eyes. The corners of its lips were drooped in a frown.
Mairon knew that look: regret. He had seen it, and being so preoccupied with his new status, he had not recognized it for what it was.
He pushed his chair back and stood. "I must leave now. Farewell."
They paused amid their bickering and looked up at him with disappointment. "You aren't going to stay for the sacrifice? It is more potent in numbers."
"I will have to attend the next," he replied, already on his way down the tower's steps to retrieve his horse.
Just as he was about to lift his foot into the stirrup, Muilë's ear twitched, and he turned his gaze to the other end of the wooded hillside. Hooves trampled the forest floor, and a neigh sounded in the distance. The low voices of the riders accompanied their galloping horses.
Mairon snatched up the reins and led his steed around the back of the tower to get out of the open. He uttered a spell under his breath, and then peered around the stone wall to spy on the trespassers.
A large company of Noldor entered the clearing and cast only brief glances in his direction, oblivious to the presence of the tower and its inhabitants. They had maintained a single line formation, but at the instruction of their golden-haired leaders, they drew together in a circle.
"What about this place, Angrod? Shall we set up camp here?" Aegnor asked his elder brother.
"No. No, no, no," Mairon pleaded.
For a long moment of hesitation Angrod searched the empty spaces between the pine trees. A silent breeze made their branches creak and sway. The Elf narrowed his eyes. "No. I do not like the feeling I get from this place. Something fell was here once…if it isn't still."
"I thought you said this place was secluded?" a voice interrupted at the Maia's side. The fourth spirit of Mandos hid in his shadow, watching the company of Elves with similar distaste.
"I had the mountain caves in mind when I said that, as the Elves will not go near them," Mairon snapped.
The smaller of the two dark figures put its hands at its hips. "Why would we live in a cave like some kind of animal, when there is an empty tower where we can stay?"
He heaved an irritated sigh. "I'm getting out of here. Take care of my tower until I have need of it again." Before it could raise any protest, he lowered his face to the spirit's and met its eyes with a firm stare. "That is an order."
The sons of Finarfin eventually settled in the hills above the Rivil's source. Mairon followed their party from a distance, hidden by Muilë's enchantment, until he was certain that this was to be their permanent location.
Without his outpost in Dorthonion, and Angband out of the question, the Maia had to look for some alternative place to keep his horse. He chose an isolated swath of forest where the edge of Ard-galen and the hills of Ladros met in a plateau, hidden from both the north and south. Then he hurried on foot to the stronghold.
A Maiarin captain named Vórindo was on duty, keeping watching over the bands of Orcs that patrolled the wastelands just outside Angband. The sky was overcast, but the clouds of Thangorodrim shielded the Orcs from whatever sunlight managed to get through.
The lieutenant immediately approached the Maia wearing a black helmet that almost completely concealed his facial features. Vórindo was one of few who possessed the patience to oversee hundreds of Orcs for hours on end.
"The Elven lords Angrod and Aegnor have occupied Dorthonion," Mairon reported to the captain.
"That will be noted," Vórindo assured him. "The upper half of the river Sirion has also been taken by the enemy. Some Noldo called Finrod has been constructing a watchtower on its isle in the pass."
Mairon shook his head, scowling. "That is two routes by which we are blocked. We must act quickly."
He searched around the front gates of the fortress, although he was doubtful that he would find the craftsman there. "Where is Satarno? Have you seen him?"
"No, I have not seen him since the eve in your honor," Vórindo replied.
A deep worry had taken up residence inside him. He felt nauseous every time it tried rising from the pit of neglected emotions.
Taryamo's words raced through his head:
Satarno has already betrayed you once. What keeps him from doing it again?
"I think Melkor has been asking for you," the captain said, breaking into his thoughts. He was studying his expression. "Is something wrong?"
"All is fine," the lieutenant muttered in response. He was grateful for the distraction to leave the hordes of dirty Orcs behind to go meet with his lord.
Mairon could tell immediately that Melkor was restless. The latter was tapping his fingers impatiently when the Maia walked in the room, and upon noticing the lieutenant he sat up straighter, his black eyes smoldering around the flames of his pupils.
"I have something urgent to discuss with you."
Mairon nodded earnestly. "Speak, and I will follow your command."
"I have been alerted to the presence of Men in the east… awake."
The Maia's heart pounded faster. "What is your plan?"
Melkor stared at him a long time, prolonging the tension. Mairon was on the verge of prompting him to answer, a dangerous and risk-laden move, when the Vala finally spoke.
"I am going to see for myself. This warrants my immediate interest. The last thing we need is another race of Elves, when it is possible to make allies."
"And what do you need from me?" he asked, taken aback by the Vala's proposal.
Melkor frowned, clearly uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say next. He refused to look the lieutenant in the eyes. "I need someone to watch the fortress in my absence, and last time I entrusted Gothmog with that, my servants ended up dispersed throughout every realm of Arda."
Mairon swore his heart stopped beating altogether in that moment. "You… do you mean… you want me to…?"
The Vala breathed a deep sigh. "Please do not attach greater significance to this."
He paused, waiting for the Maia to respond, but the latter was frozen. His face was turning bluish, and a wide, unfaltering grin had settled on his lips.
The Vala leaned forward to attract his focus. "Mairon!"
"Yes, I'm listening," he quickly answered.
"I am going to set some ground rules, so I need you to pay close attention." He could tell the Maia's eyes held a faraway gleam, and that he was only paying him half a mind. "First: do not sit in my throne. I will know immediately. This will not go unpunished. Second: everyone will be informed that I am away temporarily, so do not make any attempt to displace me. I will find out, and the consequences will be a hundred times worse than what you imagined in the very first nightmares you had of me in your infancy."
The Maia just kept nodding, unfazed.
Melkor rolled his eyes. "Third: I will communicate with you through my most trusted spies if need be. Do not try to manipulate them, for they will not serve you."
The dark lord rose from his throne and descended the dais with his circle of attendants forming a shield at his back. Mairon fell into step with the other Ainu after his lord passed him on the chamber floor, still giving orders:
"Keep the Noldor at bay – whatever it takes. And put the Maiar in their place if you must. No uprisings! Try turning them against each other… that usually works. As long as you act just as I would, really, you will find that it is impossible to go wrong."
The Vala was about to exit the throne room, with Mairon close behind, when he turned so suddenly he nearly bumped into the Maia.
"Oh, and one more thing," he said. "Gothmog is currently out on an errand. Do not order him around. He will not listen."
Melkor resumed his walk down an adjoining corridor. Mairon and the Vala's attendants followed him to a hidden entrance on the eastern end of the fortress. It was so rarely used that there were more spider webs in the crevices than there were Orcs guarding the door.
The Vala's shoulders heaved as he looked out over the vast plain, uttering words under his breath that even those nearest him could not hear.
"Are you all right, my lord?" Mairon asked with concern.
"Quit rushing me," Melkor rebuked him. "I'm trying to recall the way, as well as gather my strength."
His eyes darted around the dim landscape, as if he was worried something might jump out at any second. He took stole quietly across the courtyard, and the hem of his cape unfurled to wrap around his figure and blend him in with the night.
At the sound of a faint whoosh, like a gust of wind through a tree's branches, they knew he had gone to join the surrounding darkness.
Melkor's servants stayed out a bit longer, in the event he should change his mind and come back, before they headed inside.
Straightaway, the Maia requested Angband's stone masons to craft him a chair at a lower height than Melkor's. By the time morning came it had reached completion, and he brought all his materials with him down to the throne room. Mairon settled into the new seat and tested its fit, spreading his hands over the arm rests and leaning his head against the back of the chair. Directly under the soles of his feet, he could feel the vibrations of the earth. Meanwhile, the walls and foundations that supported the spacious room shuddered and trembled from the immense labor on the floors above. Strong forces were acting on him from every direction, and Mairon felt energized as a result. He realized now why Melkor rarely left his throne- it was located in the prime region of the fortress.
The Vala's attendants stood around and watched him, unsure how they should proceed.
"Is there anything you require, lord?" they asked in a gravelly voice.
"Yes, I'm glad you asked." The Maia finished up the list he'd been writing, including all the things that must get done by the time Melkor returned. "Summon the bands of Orcs that came in from outside, as well as their lords and captains."
Close to an hour later, the Orcs wandered into the hall, yawning and rubbing their eyes, wondering why they had all been summoned. They stared ahead at the empty throne, also questioning who was behind the order if the Vala was not. Next came the Maiar, and they gathered on the edges of the chamber, scanning the front for a presiding figure.
Mairon waited until the hall was full, and the crowd was murmuring impatiently to get on with whatever this was, before stepping into public view and claiming his seat beside the throne.
A myriad of eyes stared at him, from the mottled, yellow eyes of the Orcs, to the bright and piercing eyes of the Maiar. They glanced back and forth between each other, but at some point, it seemed to occur to them that Melkor had temporarily appointed the lieutenant to take his place.
The braziers on the dais flashed red and gold across Mairon's face. "The lords of the Noldor are attempting to shut us in." His voice echoed louder than he expected, and he took a brief pause before continuing. "It is critical that we push back while we still can. Therefore, we will expand our borders to drive the Elves back the way they came. So that the Sindar do not lend their aid, I want the Orcs who served in the Wars of Beleriand to return to Doriath, before Thingol can regain his power."
The Orc chieftains, identifiable by their regalia, started to complain. "But the sun, lord—"
He shut them down. "I did not ask for a list of excuses. You have wasted enough time in here recuperating. Do not be afraid," he added mockingly, "for you will not go alone. I shall send in more spies and apparitions to increase your numbers."
The Orcs grumbled, but they made no further objections.
"Now, for the captains," he began, flipping to the next page. "Vórindo will remain in charge at the forefront. Rátahando and Melinolmë will guard Lothlann. Sartórë, your domain stretches across Ard-Galen, from the Fen of Serech to Ladros."
"Tarcaraumo," the lieutenant called next, glancing at the former hunter of Oromë who always kept his messenger - a raven - perched on his shoulder. "You will have command over Dorthonion."
He went down the list positioning the Maiar across the map, but his finger stopped next to the last name. "Taryamo, you will lead the forces on the western front against any threats from Hithlum."
The huntsman squinted at him. He obviously did not expect the lieutenant to grant him any power. "Why?"
Mairon slowly looked up, assuming the coldness of voice typical of Melkor. "Are you questioning my orders?"
The guards stationed by the doors took a couple steps forward. Taryamo cast a nervous glance behind him, then he balled his hands into fists and marched out.
In the crowd, Boldog raised the curved blade in his hand and gathered his legions to him. "We will go, my lord! Destruction for Doriath! Death to Thingol!"
Mairon smiled favorably on the Orc captain.
The rest of the chieftains, however, hesitated to follow the order. The Maia leapt down from his seat in a rage. "What are you waiting for? Did I not speak clearly? Move!"
He seized a whip from a captain and chased the remaining Orcs out of the hall, lashing the heels of their feet. In their haste to get away, they would stumble, only to spring back up at the sound of the whip. The Maia pursued them all the way to the entrance and even the front gates beyond. When he ceased the chase, the Orcs continued sprinting across the plain into lower Beleriand, believing that he was still close behind. The discomfort of the harsh sun was temporarily forgotten.
The lieutenant looked out from the black gates and laughed.
