"Good morning, Olórin," Mairon chirped happily as he bounded into the clearing where his older brother lived. He'd made the trip from Mandos without even the slightest hint of strain, and that small proof that he was healing, and healing well, put him in a wonderful mood.
"Hmm, and what do you mean by that?" Olórin responded, unable to resist teasing in response to the large smile on his brother's face. "Are you wishing me a good morning? Or telling me it is a good morning?" He mock-pondered for a few seconds, rubbing his chin.
"Ahh," he said at last, "Or are you telling me that this is a morning to be good on?" Mairon rolled his eyes, with an exasperated expression that didn't hide the still blatant happiness in his eyes.
"All of the above," he said dryly. "Now, my dearly beloved brother, did you ask me to come this morning for a reason other than to attempt to drive me crazy?"
"I believe it was to greet me," a new voice said. "Though here I am, completely ignor—ooph!" Eönwë's sentence was completely cut off when all the air was driven from his lungs as Mairon spun, shrieked his name happily, and tackled him.
"Was that a good enough greeting?" Mairon asked cheekily as he propped himself up on his forearms over Eönwë's now prone form.
"Wonderful" Eönwë gasped out, still trying to get lungs re-filled. Mairon grinned, and rolled off of him to help with that endeavor. It turned out to be a mistake, though, as Eönwë rolled too, pinning him and tickling him in revenge.
Finally he stopped and rolled off Mairon, who lay there, working on breathing while little giggles still escaped him. When they stopped, he glared at Olórin.
"Some help you are," he mock-groused. Olórin just stuck his tongue out at his younger brother. Mairon returned the expression with an added grimace, then turned to Eönwë.
"Why are you back this time, o exploiter of other's happiness," he said with over-the-top haughtiness. "We were doing just fine without you." Eönwë laughed.
"The Edain have finally set sail for Andor," he said. "The last ships are gone, and the first ships that set out should be arriving tomorrow afternoon, according the Ulmo's folk. I thought the two of you might like to come with me to watch them arrive."
"Really?" Mairon said, his face lighting up. Then worry took over. "But, if they see me and know who I am..."
Eönwë shook his head. "The place with the best view is at a distance," he explained. "I thought we could take a picnic lunch, and set up. I think other Maiar will be there too."
"Alright then," Mairon nodded thoughtfully. "As long as there's no chance of one of the Edain recognizing me, it won't be a problem. It's not a problem if there are other Maiar there, either, as no one would say or do anything to me if you and Olórin are there."
"Very true," Olórin commented. "Ilmarë is the only who might say anything, but she would be far more likely to just avoid you."
"And I'm fairly certain she's not coming," Eönwë added, his face a mixture of disappointment and relief. Having to chose between his sister and his friends did not come easily to him.
"Well, do you have to go back before then, or are you free until the Edain arrive?" Olórin asked, wanting to know, but also wanting to distract Eönwë. It worked, and the Herald grinned.
"I'm free," he said. "And I want to stay that way. If I stay in Ilmarin or Valmar, I'll be mobbed by everyone who wants to ask me some question they've not been able to since I wasn't here. I was hoping you'd help me escape."
"What did you have in mind?" Olórin asked, his lips twitching, while Mairon didn't bother hiding his grin at this.
"The three of us, Yavanna's pastures, all day, lots of food, and stargazing tonight," Eönwë answered. Ilmarë's agreed to give anyone looking for me the run-around, so we shouldn't be bothered."
"Sounds good to me," Olórin answered, letting his control slip, and just starting to grin. "You've cleared it with our lord?"
"Yes, we're good," Eönwë assured him.
"I'll ask mine," Mairon said cheerfully. He reached out mentally, calling with the mental equivalent of a light tap for attention.
Yes, Mairon? came Námo's answering thought.
Eönwë wants to run away and take Olórin and me along, Mairon said saucily. May I? We'll be home tomorrow morning. He opened his mind to give the Vala the whole context, pleased when doing so only brought a twinge of anxious instinct. He felt, rather than heard, Námo's amused chuckle when he understood what was going on.
Yes, you may, he said. Have fun. Call for me if you have any need.
I will! Mairon responded. Thank you! Mairon felt a warm, bracing sensation like an embrace, and then the conversation was over.
"I can come!" He announced happily. "What are we waiting for?"
Námo looked ruefully at the empty place in the bed that was habitually Mairon's, then met his wife's knowing and amused, but also understanding, gaze.
"I've gotten rather used to having him here," he said quietly. Vairë's gaze softened.
"I have as well," she admitted. "But he will be back with us tomorrow night." She snuggled up to her husband, looking up at him through her eyelashes.
"And there are, perhaps, certain compensations to having the bed to ourselves for an evening," she remarked coyly. Námo chuckled, his mood lightening.
"That there are," he responded, leaning in to kiss her languidly. "That there are."
Mairon went back to Mandos the next morning, looking for good morning hugs, a hairbrush, a wash, and breakfast (in that order), but soon after was gone again, seeking to make the most of the time he could have with Eönwë.
The three of them sprawled in Olórin's clearing in Lorien, next to the waterfall, chatting animatedly about Eönwë's time with the Edain, and about the Secondborn in general. It seemed as if the years had fallen away, for they had spent a good amount of time over the Ages in just such a state, marveling at the things they were learning in Eä. Finally, though, Eönwë briefly returned to Ilmarin to collect the picnic lunch he'd previously requested from Fanyarë, and the three of them planned to head off to Andor.
"No wait," Mairon said, as Olórin reached out with his strength, as had become his habit, to help his little brother with the journey. The older Maia looked at his brother in surprise.
"I want to try getting there by myself," Mairon explained. "I think I can do it. I can get around Valinor with no problem at all now, so I want to see how far I can go."
"If you push too hard, you might set yourself back." Eönwë warned.
"Would you object to me just holding you, so that I can support you if you need it?" Olórin asked, seeing the frown starting to form on Mairon's face, and having a fairly good idea that this was rather important to his brother.
"I wouldn't mind that," Mairon said. "It's probably a good idea. I don't want you helping unless I truly need it, though." Olórin pulled him into an embrace.
"I won't," he promised. Carefully, he wrapped a bit of his strength around his younger brother, and the three of them set out. They got two thirds of the way there, and Mairon started to struggle. Olórin desperately wanted to step in, but knew that Mairon would not only be angry, but hurt, if he did. So he did the mental equivalent of gritting his teeth, and focused on being ready instantly if Mairon's strength truly gave out.
The last of Mairon's strength was sufficient to get them to their destination, though he nearly collapsed when they arrived. Olórin caught him, though, and pulled him into an embrace that was as much about support as it was congratulations.
"You did it," he breathed into Mairon's ear. "You did it." Mairon gave him an exhausted but exhilarated grin.
They spread a good-sized cloth a fair distance back from the shore, under an obliging tree, that Mairon immediately collapsed onto. They had decided the South-eastern peninsula would be the best spot to settle in, reasonably close to where the two great peninsulas formed a natural bay, and where Eönwë believed the Edain would be landing. There were other Maiar around, and Mairon could feel still others unclad, but none bothered them, for which Mairon was grateful.
By the time the three friends had emptied the large basket of all contents, Mairon was feeling much better, the ships were clear and distinct, and coming in on a good breeze. Mairon knew from Eönwë that the weather had been carefully managed for the Edain— and that Uinen hadn't let Ossë out of her sight for their whole voyage.
Very full, Mairon was content to lay lazily on the blanket and watch the ships come closer and let his thoughts drift. He thought his life was going very well. Those rumors were dead, he had so many new friends, he had his brother back again, and his relationship with Námo brought his more joy than he would have thought possible. There were still those who wished to hurt him, certainly, but he'd been foolish, being on his own like that. His ignorance of the situation had caused it, of course, but now that he knew, he wouldn't repeat the same mistake. He could stay safe and with people until he was fully healed, and then he could fight back like he was supposed to, rather than cowering like a broken slave.
He rolled over on his back, grinning to see Vingilot high above. He knew Eärendil had been guiding his son's people to their new home, and he waved at his friend. He couldn't know if the Mariner was looking his way, of course, but the action fit his buoyant mood.
"They're almost here, Mairon," Olórin said, and Mairon rolled himself back over. The large ships had come as close to land as they could, and smaller ships were being launched to bring the first wave of the Edain to shore.
"How many more ships are coming?" Mairon asked, looking over the fleet.
"This is about half," Eönwë answered. "They set sail in two groups."
"That's all?" Mairon asked in surprise. "I thought there were more Edain than that."
"Oh, there are," Eönwë assured him. "There are still more who either are uncertain about the voyage, or have become settled in Middle-earth."
"Will they be able to sail later?" Olórin asked. "It sounds like some may be more willing once they know their kin have made it safely."
"They will, yes, for a time," Eönwë answered. The conversation was distracted, though, as the first of the small boats had arrived at the shore, and a tall, dark-haired man leapt gracefully out to pull it ashore.
"Is that Elros?" Mairon asked.
"Yes, it is," Eönwë answered, as the man moved a few paces up the shore, looking around at his people's new home. Then, with a sudden turn, he looked back at his people waiting still in the ships. He held out his hands, and said something the Maiar were too far away to hear. But the people cheered, and the work of unloading began in earnest.
"He'll be a good king," Eönwë commented. Then he stretched. "Well, that's the exciting part over, unless either of you are interested in how they're going to get everything off those ships." Mairon looked interested for a moment, but then shook his head no, as did Olórin.
"Are you planning to stay here and help them like you were in Middle-earth, or do you have more time free?" Olórin asked.
"I'm going to give them a few days to settle in, and then I'll rejoin them," Eönwë answered, then gave his friends an apologetic look. "But I've not really had any time to spend with Ilmarë yet."
"Eönwë, we're not going to get mad at you for wanting to spend time with your sister," Mairon said firmly. "I want you to spend time with her. Plus, if you don't, she'll be even more angry with me." This last was serious, but said with a teasing grin as well. Eönwë laughed, which was what Mairon had wanted.
"Alright, alright," he said. "Let's head back then, so I can go make sure she can't complain." All three stood up, and Olórin looked at Mairon.
"Do you want to try to get back on your own?" He asked, his voice making it clear he did not consider that a good idea. Mairon sighed.
"No, I'm not going to be able to," he admitted. Olórin wrapped an arm around him.
"Come now, Mairon, getting here was a major milestone for you," he pointed out. "You are healing, and healing well. And until you are fully healed, let those of us that love you help you." Mairon leaned into his brother and smiled.
"I am grateful for all everyone is doing for me, Olórin, especially you," he said. "I just want to heal as fast as I can, and pushing myself is necessary for that. But you are right, in this case, pushing would hurt, not help. I am too tired to make it back by myself."
"Do you want us to carry you?" Eönwë asked in concern. "You made it here, and that was a lot of work. You should probably take it easy after that." He winked. "It also makes us feel good to pamper you a bit."
Mairon had to smile a bit at that, even as he was fully aware of the manipulation tactics they were using.
"Alight, alright, you win, both of you," Mairon said. "Go ahead and carry me." While he spoke with gentle exasperation, he had to admit that the warm strength that his brother and oldest friend wrapped him in brought a deep comfort that he relaxed into without hesitation. As well, not having to focus on traveling let him recapture an earlier thought. He needed to have a conversation with Námo tomorrow or the next day...
"My lord?" Mairon asked as he stepped into Námo's office. Námo looked up, attention caught by the serious note in the Maia's voice.
"Yes, Mairon?" he asked. "Is everything alright?" Mairon nodded, and came fully into the room, sitting on a chair in front of Námo's desk.
"I wanted to discuss something with you," he explained.
"Of course," Námo replied. "You are always welcome." Mairon smiled briefly but brightly at that, but quickly became serious again.
"I feel like I am much stronger lately," he started. "I'm able to move around Valinor without even a strain now, and when Eönwë, Olórin, and I went to Andor to watch the Edain arriving, I made it all They way there by myself. It wasn't easy, but I managed it. Emotionally, I think I'm doing much better as well. I won't even pretend to believe that I'm fully healed, but…" He paused, clearly coming to the heart of what he wanted to say.
"I was wondering if you thought I might finally be strong enough for you try to lift the bindings on my mind," he finally said quickly, obviously torn between hoping desperately it was true, and fearing the disappointment if Námo said no.
"You might be," Námo responded, and the hope in Mairon's eyes brightened. "Nienna mentioned after the last time you visited her that she thought you might be getting close, and I agree with her. I would prefer to wait a bit longer, but if you sincerely want me to go ahead and try, I am willing to do so." He leaned forward slightly to catch the attention of the now grinning Maia.
"You may not be strong enough for me to do this, Mairon, and I won't know for certain until I am in your mind. If that is the case, or it is causing you undue distress, I am going to stop. You need to be aware that that is a possibility." Mairon nodded seriously.
"I understand," he said. "I will be disappointed if that is the case, of course, but I understand that my health needs to come first." Námo studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"Come along, then," he said, and Mairon stood and took his hand. They headed off down a long corridor that Mairon had never been in before, before going through several doors and small rooms before settling down in one. It was circular, its walls covered in simple, calming tapestries. The only furniture in it was large, comfortable couch, that the two Ainur curled up on.
"The wards here…" Mairon mused, half in curiosity, half in wonder.
"I have wards all throughout Mandos, to protect the fëar here, and to promote their healing," Námo said. Mairon nodded; he was aware of them.
"This room, however, is especially reinforced, with my siblings' help as well," Námo said. He smiled down at Mairon. "This is not the first time I've had to do something of this nature, and I built this room to help ensure success and healing." Mairon hummed softly his understanding and interest, continuing to study the wards for a bit longer. Then finishing, he turned his attention back to Námo, leaning against the Vala.
"Are you ready then?" Námo asked him softly. Mairon nodded, closing his eyes trustingly as Námo rearranged him to lay comfortably in his arms. A soft, warm feeling drifted over him, as Námo began to gently brush a mental hand over Mairon's mental shields, just barely beginning to recover from their destruction at his trial. They were still soft and fragile, capable of veiling Mairon's mind, but not capable of withstanding any sort of pressure or attempt to penetrate them. Námo, of course, did no such thing, and simply continued to caress them tenderly until Mairon willingly lowered them. Then he carefully sank deeper into the Maia's mind, his presence almost reminding Mairon of liquid, warmth and weight and comfort, but no harsh edges to catch on any of the broken pieces of his mind.
Mairon, for his part, was somewhat surprised to find how willingly he accepted Námo's actions. He had expected at least a little bit of hesitation on his part, no matter how much he trusted his lord. But there had been none. Something very old and very instinctual had risen in him at Námo's first caressing touch on his mind, something that said this was good, and right. Námo, too, seemed aware of that, and was acting to deliberately strengthen it. He was interacting with the Maia's fëa in a way that would heighten Mairon's comfort, and increase that feeling of rightness, and managed it with enough skill that even when he had to prod lightly at the bindings on the Maia's mind and soul as he traced their paths, it only brought minor discomfort.
Slowly, Námo followed the bindings and sank deeper and deeper into the Maia's fëa, until he came to another set of mental shields. These were ragged, jagged, clenched tightly around the cruel darkness that ripped through them to violate the Maia's core. The type and intensity of the damage that had been wrought here was unmistakeable, and there had been almost no healing. Námo gave a soft mental sigh, and brushed a feather-light thought across them. As gentle as he was, Mairon still flinched—it hurt. Carefully, Námo drew back a bit, increasing the care and comfort he was exuding to the Maia until all of the pain was gone.
You're not going to be able to lower these, Námo told Mairon gently.
Does that mean you have to stop? the Maia thought sadly in return. Námo was silent for a long moment, considering.
I could, perhaps, push through them myself, he finally said. I am extremely reluctant to do so, however. You have already been subjected to that once, I do not want to do it to you as well. Normally, I would simply do what I did at the first set of your mental shields, and touch you gently until you lowered them. But any touch here brings you pain, not pleasure, and with as tightly clenched as you are against the intrusion, you wouldn't be able to lower them even if you wished to.
And will that ever change? Mairon asked pertinently. If I'm understanding this correctly, I will not be able to lower them until the bindings are gone. Yet you cannot remove the bindings until you are past them. Námo sighed again.
I fear you are correct, he said.
Then shatter them if you must. It is not the same at all—when Morgoth did it, there was nothing I wanted less. I want you to do this, and I am freely giving my consent.
Are you certain, little one? Questions of how my entry would be accomplished aside, once I am in your core, everything will be open to me. Everything you've experienced, everything you've thought, everything you are, will be in my control. Are you certain you wish to do that? How much of yourself are you willing to give to me?
Mairon fought to control the physical form he was feeling less and less of a connection with, so that he could open his eyes and use his mouth, and so reply with all that was currently him:
"Everything," Mairon whispered, and in response Námo hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing deep within him, bringing a single moment of intense pain—
And then everything was gone.
Except for warmth. And love—the being that held him loved him, decided the creature who didn't even know if he had a name…
"Mairon. Your name is Mairon," the being whispered gently.
He liked that name, Mairon decided. Did the being that held him have a name?
"My name is Námo," again came the gentle whisper.
Mairon decided he loved Námo, because he could feel the powerful being's love for him. Had Námo created him?
"No, my little one," Námo said. "I did not. You cannot remember your Atar, because you have been hurt, but he loves you very much. Even more than I do."
Mairon was amazed that there could be another who loved him like Námo did. He wished he could remember…
"Here, my child," Námo said. "Let me break these, and we will see if you can remember then…"
Mairon gasped and spasmed as bonds on his mind and memory were broken. He was confused at first but Námo quickly sorted it, and handed him the relevant information.
Ah, that was right! And as memory of his Creator returned, so did his knowledge of who he was. He was a Maia—and Námo, who held him, was a Vala. He had been created to serve the Valar, and he was. Mairon felt happy when he realized that he was following his creator's design for him. And he was loved—both by his Atar and by the Vala he served.
"There are more who love you, you know," Námo said. "Do you remember your brother?"
Brother? Mairon wondered. Námo gently pulled the memories to the fore, and Mairon smiled as he remembered Olórin. There was something to do with pain there, but it didn't matter, the Maia decided, because he could remember Olórin's absolute love for him.
"And there is your sister…" Námo murmured, pulling that to the fore as well.
Indil! Mairon smiled again, though there was pain there too—the pain of parting. But that would be swallowed up in the happiness of eventual reunion, when he would be able to see her again.
"And then there are your friends…" Námo murmured.
Beren, Lúthien, Eönwë, Ilmarë, Melian, Istamírë, Almaron, Nyárë, Qunetalë, Failien, Maedhros, Finrod, and others he knew less well all flashed through his mind. There were many who loved him, Mairon realized with a deep happiness he knew had another name…
"Joy," Námo supplied.
Yes, it was joy that Mairon felt at the memories of those who loved him, and whom he loved in return. Mairon basked in the sensation, and that of Námo's warm presence, not realizing the healing that was taking place as Námo continued to repair the damage Morgoth had left.
"Mairon," Námo finally said, and Mairon focused his attention again on his lord.
"Mairon, you need to wake up now," Námo said gently. Mairon was confused. He thought he was awake…
"Not quite, little one," Námo murmured as he carefully withdrew from the Maia's mind.
Mairon gasped as memories and the sensations of a fána came back to him. Slowly, he opened his eyes to meet Námo's compassionate and concerned gaze, realizing that the Vala was supporting his neck, and that the only movement he had the strength to make where the involuntary tremblers that shook his form.
"Is that…is that what normally happens?" Mairon asked weakly. Námo sighed softly.
"No, it is not," Námo admitted. "Most Maiar do not forget that much. But since the bindings on your mind prevented you from remembering Ilúvatar…"
"I forgot all," Mairon finished. Námo nodded.
"Why am I so weak?" Mairon asked in a murmur, eyes drooping.
"Because I broke the bindings on your mind, replaced those memories back where they belonged, and repaired a large amount of the remaining damage to your mind," Námo said. "It took a lot from you, and those changes will take time to settle. Sleep, child—you will heal faster that way. I will take care of you."
"I know," Mairon whispered, letting the exhaustion take him into gentle oblivion.
Well, this should be a good place to leave this story for the next year and a half, right? *ducks rotten fruit* I'm kidding, I'm kidding! I will do my best to have the next chapter out sooner than that. Feel free to do your part to make that happen: reviews feed the muse!