The flags of Fëanor and Fingolfin's houses waved in viewing distance of the windows of Angband. A semi-circle made of the two armies had begun to stretch from east to west. A radiating, living wall of armor and shields, of bright golds, silvers and blues that contrasted the dark towers and immovable gray mountains they were up against.
Melkor sent an Orc raid to Hithlum in hopes to catch the Noldor unaware at their base, but it had been entirely unsuccessful, and he made no more attempts. For long, uncounted hours he stared at the barricade just beyond his front doors, either alone or with Mairon and Gothmog to keep him company.
The Balrog captain scowled. "Perhaps if Mairon had not sent out all our armies to their deaths-"
"QUIET!" the Vala growled, and with a forceful shove he sent the Balrog crashing through several layers of reinforced iron walls. The metal hissed and steamed, melting under waves of heat radiating from Gothmog.
Mairon directed a smug grin at the crumpled mass of fire and wings.
Melkor's attention turned back to the window, and the Vala stiffened when he spotted Taryamo riding in the direction of the fortress atop his white Warg, clutching an injured arm to his chest. The bandage covering it was soaked in blood.
Several more captains followed suit and returned to Angband, lacking in morale and reinforcements. Melkor ordered the deserters into the throne room and one by one confronted his broken vassals.
From his chair below the dais, Mairon observed the Vala grasp each captain by the shoulder, keeping the Maiar in a trance-like state until the relinquishment was complete. The color came back to Taryamo's sallow skin, the vigor in his eyes renewed.
"Do not fail me again," Melkor spat. "You have the strength of the Valar within you."
Mairon could not help but wonder if the Vala had passed some of his power into him. He held up his arm and curiously flexed the fingers. The burning sensation in his palm, meant to imitate Melkor's own pain, had long vanished.
"Yes, my lord," Taryamo said, bowing hastily to get back to his post. The Vala moved on to the next, repeating the same process with the remaining captains.
But the odds were not good. The Noldorin camps approached the black gates with every passing day, while the armies of Angband were forced to retreat further within.
"It's only a matter of time before they close in," Melkor said on an occasion when it was just him and the lieutenant at his side. They had been watching in silence as the highest captains of the Elves consorted in a circle on the battle field, most likely devising war strategies.
"What can be done?" Mairon wondered glumly. He hadn't seen an army as impressive and unrelenting as that of the Noldor, not since the great wars of the Ainur against Melkor. And even then, the Valar had not been so stubborn.
To his surprise, the Vala smiled. "Deceit, always deceit, my crafty Maia. Let the Noldor believe they have the upper hand. Why should I ever have to raise a finger, when my enemies can destroy themselves for me?"
He was glad Melkor did not look so downtrodden as the rest of them, even if he was putting on a brave face for the sake of appearances. Mairon did not think it was all for show, though. He was not the only one watching the Vala's face – all Melkor's servants ironically gazed into those dread-inspiring features for a glimmer of hope. He needed them to trust him; it was necessary that his legions not have a single doubt when sacrificing themselves for his cause. Melkor could develop the simplest of methods into strategies.
Despite his optimistic attitude, the Vala's actions fell short. He did little more than glare at the army growing larger and more insistent by the day, acting helpless to do anything, and the other half the time he did not acknowledge the threat at all. Mairon found this last part especially worrisome, but he decided not to say anything after a minor captain had already questioned it.
"My lord, shouldn't you do something about the Noldor…?" he had asked tentatively. Melkor was slaving his attendants around, forcing them to do frivolous tasks like sweep and mop the floors, and the captain couldn't watch anymore.
Mairon never saw him again.
Only Gothmog was bold enough to say what everyone else was thinking, and lucky enough to get away with it. "Are we just going to sit in here and wait to die, like the women and children in the Elven camps?" his voice boomed to announce his arrival, interrupting the Vala and lieutenant. "We have enough Orcs now, why don't we-"
"No," Melkor answered before he could finish his suggestion.
Gothmog blew rings of smoke out of his nostrils in frustration, but he wisely decided not to argue. The Vala turned his back to the window and brushed past them, leaving his two Maiar alone with each other. The Balrog was trembling with rage. He smacked the window with his clawed hand, leaving five lines in the cracked glass.
Mairon broke the tension. "I do not know if I should remain here to guard him, in case…"
"Do what you want, lieutenant," Gothmog snapped. "If Melkor isn't worried, neither should you be." He grumbled something else under his breath, something along the lines of, "I just wish he would let us in on his plans."
It seemed foolish to leave the Vala alone at such an uncertain time. As Mairon crept near the doors of the throne room, he could hear chaotic scribbling come from within. He peeked in to find the Vala hard at work at his table with quills and rolls of parchment at his disposal. Melkor uttered harsh, coarse words that drew the Maia's attention, and when the latter was close enough, he witnessed a dark shape rise off the surface of the parchment, stuck to Melkor's fingertips.
Melkor thrust his arm into the black fog and twisted his hand, manipulating its qualities with just his touch.
"Come here, Mairon," the Vala beckoned, noticing his presence and picking up on his intrigue without turning his head. "This is not something you would be averse to."
Obediently, and with a strong dose of curiosity, he started to ascend the steps towards his lord. The shape suddenly grew to monstrous size and dove to attack him, its smoky fangs glowing like hot coals. Mairon jumped out of its path, rolling across the floor to avoid any contact with its sweeping shadow.
Melkor slapped his knees and laughed aloud at that reaction. "It isn't real, you idiot!"
The lieutenant maintained his distance nonetheless. "It is highly convincing," he said in defense.
Melkor was grinning at the floating fog that resembled a thunderstorm. "It's not real yet." His lord spread his arms and called his creation, coaxing it with words of old, old Valarin. The columns in the chamber vibrated from the deep tremors of his voice.
The Vala inhaled deeply, as if breathing in a pleasant aroma, and his eyes appeared to roll back into his head. An uncomfortable beat of silence passed before all hell broke loose.
The muscles in his jaw tightened and his lord's body quaked, like it was struggling to contain a powerful energy. He was becoming red in the face. A scream escaped his lips that was so deafening, so ghastly, so terrible that Mairon was sure even Tulkas would have wept to hear it. It contained more hatred than every ill-concealed glare of contempt Melkor reserved for his foulest enemies. Such was its strength, its reserve, that it could have released thousands of years of resentment in the brief few seconds it lasted.
Even once it ended, afterwards the black fog assumed a morbid appearance and opened its own maw, repeating the same scream as a mirror image, before exploding in a shower of ash. A delighted smile touched the Vala's lips as he collapsed into a heap on the floor. He did not move.
Mairon just then realized the lights had gone out, and he was left searching the pitch-black room for his lord. It took some time for his hands to cease shaking enough to rekindle the torches. He found the Vala sprawled on his back, silent and still, giving no indication that he had regained consciousness.
Mairon gave his shoulder a firm shake. The skin under the robe was cold and clammy. Melkor's head lolled to the side, and his eyes shot open with renewed purpose, looking first to Mairon and then staring beyond him. An expression of bliss held him transfixed.
"It's perfect," he choked out in a whisper.
There was much less reason to be concerned for Melkor once it became clear he was planning something, not sitting idle as they all secretly feared. Besides, he'd already made preparations to send an Orc army east to destroy the remaining dark Elves, and the lieutenant had to act fast if he wished to prevent it.
The hidden exit was located on the other side of the fortress. Mairon found himself far away from his destination, having subconsciously taken a much longer route just to pass by Satarno's quarters. He hesitated next to the closed chamber door with his hand raised to knock, pondering what to do. But before the inhabitant inside could register the pause, he pushed the absurd thought aside and kept walking. Unbeknownst to him, the other craftsman was awake and aware, watching the shadow under his door linger and then move on.
Outside, two flags waved over Lothlann, and Mairon did not recognize either as their own. Fortunately, the dense shadows of the Iron Mountains that concealed the side entrance so effectively also masked a secret path to the east, presumably the same one Melkor used.
He still had to risk exposure on the plains to retrieve his horse, though. The return trip would be a breeze thanks to Muilë's abilities, so he only required a plan to get him past the enemy army the first time. He was sure that any innocuous shape he took would draw the attention of the Noldor, who would be on the lookout for spies, so he settled for a Noldo – specifically, a messenger, a disguise that had yet to fail him.
It was twilight once he reached the border of Dorthonion, the land that had once been his own, and he scowled inwardly when he saw its level of Elven occupation. The woodland was infested with their camps, and a ring of watchtowers encircled the hills guarding Angband's southern front.
Mairon made sure the messenger's attire included the emblems on the flags over Lothlann. Many strong-looking Noldor kept guard on the grassy slope below the door of the first tower. Feathery plumes emerged from the tops of their golden helmets, and their bright shields glinted in the waning rays of daylight, emblazoned with the symbol for the house of Finarfin.
"Halt," spoke one of the guards, before Mairon had advanced a step. "State your lineage and reason for intrusion in our land."
Our land? He wanted to vomit. "I hail from the house of Fëanor, but I bear witness to the transfer of power from Maedhros to Fingolfin, lord of the Noldor," he said respectfully. "My business is with the lords Finrod, Angrod, and Aegnor, whomever will grant me audience, for I have news of a threat encroaching west from Lothlann, from whence I come."
He could not see the guard's eyes through his helmet, but he felt them close upon him, analyzing every little detail. "Lord Finrod is unavailable, but lords Angrod and Aegnor shall assess if your news is worth their time."
The second the guard's back was to him, Mairon changed form to a crow, darting into the shelter of the pine forests before he could be spotted. He perched atop a tall tree and used his keen eyes to search the place he'd stowed Muilë, swooping down to land on his steed's back as she grazed alone in the isolated valley.
She didn't find that amusing. The horse turned her head aside and snorted, blowing air out of her nose to push him off.
Black mist engulfed Mairon as he grew to his usual form. "Quit it! I am a lieutenant now, you know, and my duties require me to be at the fortress for long durations. I am sorry you had to remain out here by yourself."
She was still bitter, but Muilë led them both safely through Dorthonion and past Lothlann, and then into the quiet, eastern lands, which so far boasted few of the Noldor. Crickets chirped peacefully in the forests, and unseen creatures snuffled in the foliage. The stars broke free of the dark clouds hovering in the north.
He knotted his horse's lead around her usual tree and walked the rest of the path on foot. The Maia glanced down at himself and checked every particularity of Thû's disguise until it was impeccable. Then he searched the woods for Nuin, whom he expected to be away from the village exploring on his own. Sure, the Elf was annoying, and nosy, but he was wise in his own way. He knew many things without ever leaving Cuiviénen.
Eventually he found the Elf resting in a glade along the river bank. Small white flakes of snow caught in his hair and silver crown. He lay in the bushes with his eyes partly closed, drifting off to sleep to the lull of running water.
Nuin twitched awake when he sensed another presence. He blinked his sleepy eyes. "You keep coming and going… leaving only to return... returning only to leave..." he murmured.
"I come with urgency this time. Nuin, you must leave this area. Head west over the mountains."
The Elf frowned, acting frustratingly resistant. "Why? What for?"
"Because I've said so. It isn't safe here any longer."
He narrowed his eyes. "Those creatures are here?"
The lieutenant nodded. "They are being sent to destroy everyone and everything."
"How do you know all this?" Nuin wondered.
"Because I know."
"We cannot just leave," he argued. "We've spent years building, you've spent years teaching us-"
"None of that matters," Mairon said in exasperation. "If you remain here, you will be killed."
It looked as if he might be considering, but uncertainty must have been the dominant emotion. Nuin hesitated too long.
Mairon's method turned forceful. "Do as I say!"
He had assumed a more menacing countenance to coerce him, but he realized his mistake too late. In that moment, the Elf had recognized him.
"Nuin, wait—" He tried altering his tone, but it was futile.
First, sadness. All light flooded out of his eyes, and he stepped back with his mouth agape. His jaw became taut as though he was struggling to withhold tears, but as soon as his facial muscles began to soften, rage took him instead.
Hot anger smoldered in his delicate features. His lips curled and his hands balled into fists as he threw himself at the lieutenant.
"How could you?!"
The Maia grabbed his wrists and restrained him, but the Elf would not relent.
"Liar!" he accused.
Mairon gave him a rough shove, and the latter fell into the grass at his feet. "Shut up!"
The Elf glared at the Maia, inviting his next blow with a grim acceptance. "Go ahead, kill me. You have already ruined my life in every possible way."
"Your own stupidity will kill you first. I am trying to save you."
"HA!"
Mairon seized him by the neck and thrust him against a tree, while Nuin clawed at the hands choking him. A sadistic smile twitched at the Maia's lips.
"Please," the Elf gasped, trying to pry off the grip on his throat. "Thû."
The fire in his eyes calmed, and his hold loosened enough for Nuin to slide out and drop to the ground. He started crawling away.
The Maia leaned over, picking him up by the tunic. He tossed his body several feet, and a muffled umph! left the Elf on his painful landing. Nuin lifted his head and peered out from a tangled mess of hair. "I am entirely convinced that you have no soul. You have won. Now leave me to die."
Mairon waved his hand to gesture to the distant village. "Do you think I gave you all this without anything in return? You agreed to my leadership. I did not force it on you."
"And what does that imply?" Nuin's voice cracked, imbued with a deep sorrow. "Does it mean what I think it does?"
The Maia's expression was stoic as he watched realization dawn on the Elf.
"You said you would protect us from the shadow… but the threat was you all along. You are the shadow!"
"I can still protect you-"
"I do not want your protection," he hissed, wiping at the blood trickling down his forehead.
Mairon studied his face in a way the Elf found unnerving. "You will be servants of Melkor, the mighty, all-powerful, and rightful ruler of these lands."
"Who are you, then?"
"I am Mairon, of the race of the gods."
He gave a derisive snort at the name.
The Maia realized too late that the Elf had kept him talking to distract him. Before he could react, Nuin slipped away, sprinting through the forest in hopes of an escape.
"There is no use hiding, Nuin," he called out, followed by wicked laughter. "You know I'll find you."
Nuin kept running. When the trees thinned out, he glanced left, and the Elf caught a glimpse of Mairon running alongside him. A choked sob escaped his throat, and fear overtook his senses. He was no longer aware of his surroundings, only the space in front of him, which was a rapid blur of motion.
"I do enjoy a hunt," the Maia's voice said at first behind him, then before him, and then it was above him…
The Elf was quick, sliding over the mossy ground and dodging the Maia's grasp as he jumped down from some hiding place. The lieutenant watched him scamper off like a frightened animal. The Maia shut his eyes and concentrated. He could hear the rapid beating of his prey's heart, the pounding of his swift feet on the earth. He felt the cold gusts of air blowing against his flushed skin, he saw the fear in his eyes.
Straight ahead, shining in the east like a beacon, the stars rose over the cliff of waterfalls, and below it the pools of starlight and the wizard's house.
He was trying to make it to Thû. The real Thû.
This was no longer a hunt – it was a race.
With a growl of rage, Mairon took off after him, and he was just inches away when he caught a lock of the Elf's dark hair. He yanked on it, and Nuin howled in pain, spinning to cut him with a concealed dagger.
Mairon screamed as blood gushed from his hand, but the Elf did not stay to watch.
This forest used to be filled with starlight, Nuin recalled, yet it was so dark and sinister at present, and the paths seemed to lead in circles. He tripped over a gnarled tree root, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath. He felt something dripping on him: blood. He recoiled in terror as he saw the Maia's eyes glowing in the dark, hanging upside-down from the twisted branches of a dead tree.
He ducked and stumbled on, running until his lungs burned and his vision confused the sky above with the ground underneath. He only stopped to rest when he could no longer hear his pursuer's footsteps, and he dropped to his knees, keeping a careful watch on the dark woods at his back.
Mairon stepped out in front of him instead, and Nuin panicked, faking a turn to the left and heading right. The Maia reached for him and missed, patiently following at a brisk walk now.
The floor dipped on a sudden and the Elf leaped over a ditch of brambles, rolling to his feet once he landed safely on the other side. His breathing consisted of short gasps and his head was pounding, but he picked up speed. There was no time for pause until the ominous maze of trees finally gave way and he collapsed on the open shores of the Helcar. He glanced frantically over his shoulder, caught between the enemy and the sea.
Mairon appeared from out of the trees, and at the last second the Elf decided to stand his ground and face him. The Maia walked closer, his steps crunching over the sand until he drew to a halt just across from Nuin, blocking whatever escape he might have had.
"Why can't you leave me alone?!" Nuin cried desperately.
"This is truly me who stands before you," he insisted. "The same one who has ever been your friend."
"You are not my friend. You are insane. Get away."
Anger boiled within Mairon. "I have taught you more than your coward fay ever will, who cares naught for you and stays hidden deep within his dwelling place."
Nuin shook his head, fighting back tears.
"You would have remained here forever, gazing with dismal eyes into this sea as the ages of the world pass by. You would know nothing if you had refused me, Nuin."
The Elf retreated as far as he could without touching the water, still shaking his head in denial.
"You are too afraid to swim to safety, just as you were too afraid to cross the sea to Aman," the Maia mocked him.
Nuin covered his ears. "Be gone!" he screamed.
Mairon bowed his head in acquiescence. He faded into the darkness of the forest, becoming brighter and brighter with the glare of hundreds of fires as Orcs advanced on the village. Silver tears fled Nuin's eyes, and with his head downturned, he used his last words to loudly curse the gods.
Under dim moonlight obscured by smoke, the Maia marched back to the fortress. His cloak fluttered against his heels, his swift, wrath-driven steps kicking up dust.
Prior to his arrival, the Balrog captain had been patrolling the courtyard in low spirits. He'd obviously been watching the Noldor inch closer to the iron gates without being able to do anything about it. But as soon as Gothmog noticed Mairon in a state of emotional dishevelment, his sadistic interest was piqued.
He put on a wide grin. "Is something the matter, lieutenant?"
Mairon hardly acknowledged him, greeting the captain with an indifferent glance.
Gothmog fell into step behind the other Maia. "Listen... if you ever feel like this position is too much for you, you can always go back to making crafts or whatever it is you used to do. Melkor will understand. We all will."
"Hmm…" Mairon pretended to consider. "But then your only purpose would be to serve as fuel for my forges, Gothmog."
"I should cut out your tongue for that, blacksmith," the Balrog snarled in response. He sidled off to sharpen his blade against a grindstone.
The line of Noldorin defense became hushed as Mairon walked into the open on the opposite side, what remained of Angband's holding over Ard-Galen. Sharp pointed spears already aimed in his direction from the front lines.
He raised his head to make eye contact with the expectant Noldor, who straightened their ranks and instinctively tightened the grips on their weapons. Normally he made sure his expression was unimpressed, almost bored, but suddenly their resistance was infuriating.
Pacing back and forth, he let his glare spread like wildfire down the row of faces exhibiting a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and resilience. He bared his teeth, and a smile touched his lips when he saw their responses of vehemence and offense.
Without warning, he rushed at their line, startling the Noldorin guards.
"Don't tease them, Gorthaur!" a captain called from atop the gate.
Hatred burned inside, fueled by a fire that he could not contain. "Do you think you are brave having come this far? Do you feel a sense of accomplishment? Do you think Finwë would be proud, if only he could see you now?" he yelled over the flags flapping in the wind.
The Maia laughed scornfully when no one offered an answer.
Metal hinges creaked open behind him, and a group of Maiarin captains emerged from the fortress. Initially they acted hesitantly due to his station, but as he continued rousing the army, they were left with no other option. They surrounded the lieutenant and attempted to bring him in with them.
Mairon reacted violently. He turned aside so abruptly that the Maia holding his left arm lost his grip and fell into the dust. The other two were not so easily shaken. He tried snapping their wrists or swinging them around, but reinforcements were quick to arrive, and collectively the guards forced the unruly lord through the gates.
He did not cease his struggle. Mairon dragged his feet and resisted every step of the way.
The Orcs picked up on the conflict, flocking to the front hall like rats to scraps of meat. "Fight!" the swarthy creatures chanted in encouragement. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"Release me at once!" he commanded the other Maiar.
"Do not be so foolish, Mairon," they hissed. "You cannot fight an entire army on your own."
"This is not like you at all," said another.
Without a word in response, he managed to free himself from detainment and stormed into the throne room, bumping into the guards there while still being chased by the ones he'd just escaped from.
Melkor was at first disgruntled by the upset among his captains, until he saw that his lieutenant was at the center of it all. The Vala arched an eyebrow, fascinated. "And why are you so upset?"
Mairon struck another captain trying to restrain him, causing the other to stagger back. "Their insolence disgusts me."
Melkor blinked. His eyes followed the trail of unconscious guards to the door, until he realized the Maia was referring to the Noldor. "It is repulsive. I'm surprised you didn't see it sooner. All those years spent wasted trying to teach any kind of reason to the Eldar… I can only imagine what that must have been like."
The Vala observed his reaction. It seemed Mairon was paying close attention to him at the moment. He was especially vulnerable now, yes… an aura of confusion emanated from the craftsman that he could feel even high up on his throne.
Melkor ensured his words contained their maximum potency. "If only you had heeded me from the beginning," he said sadly. "Then you would not have been so lividly disappointed."
The Maia's shoulders sagged. "Yes." The fight seemed to gradually leave his system. "Yes, you are right, my lord."
"Of course. I have always been right. It is apparent to me that the teachings of the Valar are still embedded within you, Mairon. They taught you to wait on the Elves hand and foot, didn't they? They tried diverting your attention, disguising the fact that you were a slave to their slaves! All this to maintain their strict hierarchy, to keep you from ever questioning them, to snuff out your potential like a dangerous flame. But clearly, that wasn't successful." He indicated to Mairon's vacant seat. "Sit," he instructed. "Simmer in your hatred and do something productive with it."
Soon after he had done so, the red in his vision faded, and his usual calm, rational self returned. Melkor spoke the truth. Why had he so adamantly believed otherwise? Who was he to doubt the Vala's ultimate wisdom? So long as the Elves could decide freely, they would not choose to obey Melkor. Too much of Manwë existed in their makeup.
He had to focus on their downfall instead. He had to trust that his lord had a plan great enough to eliminate them.
An army of Orcs entered the chamber and approached the throne, led by a captain named Fankil. Whether he was Maia or Orc in origin, none could really tell, so much had he altered his appearance. He removed his spiked helmet and his chain mail clinked as he bowed.
"Do you bring me good tidings, Fankil?" Melkor asked hopefully.
"Indeed, lord. The dark Elves will be a bother to you no more." He smiled, revealing fangs that cut into his lower lip. "Their leader fought hard and desperate, but he succumbed to a most unpleasant death at the hands of my men. Many in the village were crying out for a being called 'Thû', but he never showed. We found his dwelling place under a waterfall, but it was vacated, and we believe he escaped somehow. It is said he was a wizard of some kind, or a deity they worshiped."
Melkor chuckled. He turned to his lieutenant. "Did you hear that, Mairon? There was a wizard living among the Avari! I should have pitted you against him to see who emerged the victor."
The Maia offered a false laugh. He dug his injured hand deeper into his robes.
"There is something else, though, Master," Fankil continued. "Some rather ill news."
The Vala's grin faded faster than it came.
"Before they were destroyed, the Avari managed to instruct the Men living nearby. Speech they taught them, and some lore… they have been familiarized with the Valar."
Melkor sprang to his feet, scowling from ear to ear. "WHAT?!"
"However," Fankil cut in, quickly, before his lord could explode in a ball of fury, "your influence is strong among Men. They know and accept the other Valar, but the Elves were unsuccessful in their attempts to turn the second-born against you. 'The shadow' is their name for you, ignorant as they are, yet Men view you as the greatest of the gods."
Appeasement inched across the Vala's face. His anger now abated, he dismissed the captain. "You have performed well; go revel in your victory."
Melkor sat again on his throne, and Mairon could sense the high level of activity going on in his master's thoughts. His own were just as overwhelming. Painful throbs kept shooting through the gash in his palm, serving as a reminder. Perhaps he should feel guilty for leaving the Avari to die… but then again, they had refused him. They refused the one being who could have saved them.
As if he knew what he was thinking, Melkor met his eyes, smirking at the Maia with a look of vengeful satisfaction.
He returned it.
