Mairon slept for weeks, waking only briefly. He woke long enough to farewell Eönwë, though not to rise; Eönwë bent over him where he lay to give him a gentle hug, and Mairon managed to get his arms up and around the older Maia, nuzzling his face just above Eönwë's collarbone in response to Eönwë's softly whispered farewell, still too exhausted to formulate words.

Manwë freed Olórin from any other duties other than caring for his brother, and so a routine was swiftly established where Námo would wake Mairon in the morning, feed him, and then take him to Olórin's home in Lórien, where Mairon would sleep for the rest of the day under his brother's watchful eye, safe and peaceful in the atmosphere Irmo and Estë had created in their gardens. When evening drew on, Námo would return and wake Mairon again, and they would share a meal with Olórin, before returning to the comfort of Mandos.

Melian too sat with Mairon, usually softly singing ancient songs of rest and healing. Sometimes she came to give Olórin company, but other times she shooed him off to do something else, to keep the burden of caring for a virtually unconscious Mairon from becoming too much. Istamírë, Almaron, Failien, and Quentalë also came, but they usually visited during meals, when Mairon was briefly awake.

Months passed, and Mairon grew stronger, slowly starting to take up a few of his old duties again. Maedhros had been told only that Mairon had undergone an intense procedure to remove the last of Morgoth's hold on him, and the elf was overjoyed to see him again. Mairon was thrilled to see how well Maedhros was doing: seeing his little brothers freed from the Oath and being around his grandfather and cousins again had done him a lot of good. Mairon also started to spend time in the children's halls again, though he couldn't at first play the vigorous games he had. The Elflings there, though, were quite understanding, being used to wounded souls, and many would sit quietly with him, simply wanting to be with their friend.

Finally, though, Mairon healed enough to begin moving around Valinor on his own again. And after an earnest conversation with Námo, Manwë asked Mairon to come to Ilmarin.

"My Lord?" Mairon queried as he entered the smaller audience chamber in Ilmarin. "Lord Námo said you wanted to see me?" Manwë smiled at him.

"I did, Mairon," he answered. "Though in truth, it is one of my people who wishes to speak with you."

A Maia hesitantly stepped out of a small doorway on the side of the room. Mairon turned his head to look at him, and blinked. Then blinked twice in quick succession, like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Morondo?" Mairon asked, surprise in his voice. "But—you're here? I, I thought—" The younger Maia turned to look at Manwë, who smiled gently at him.

"We rescued a good number of Maiar after we overthrew Utumno," he began to explain. Mairon nodded, as he had known that, though had he been asked to explain what had happened in that war, he would have used the word 'captured' to describe what had become of most of Melkor's followers.

"We healed as many of them as we could," Manwë went on, "And many now have taken up regular service with the Vala of their choice. Most still are close with one another, and they take the time to stay up with what is going on with each other. Morondo organizes much of that, I know," Manwë added with a fond smile at his Maia, who blushed faintly in response.

"We have found that there are some things it is easiest to talk about with someone who doesn't need all the details," Morondo said quietly. "Not all still want to stay close, and we respect that, but many do. And that is why I wanted to speak with you, Mairon—and to apologize."

"Apologize?" Mairon asked in surprise. Morondo smiled sadly.

"Yes," he said. "Will you walk with me?" Mairon nodded, still looking somewhat confused, but there was no hesitation or wariness in his face or posture, Manwë noted with relief as he watched the two leave.

"I can hardly see what you could have done that would require an apology," Mairon commented in a low voice as he walked beside Morondo. The other Maia was older, and taller, but Mairon had worked with him in the past, and was almost subconsciously taking the lead as he had done then.

"It is not something done, but something undone," Morondo replied calmly, as he turned into a sunny corridor. There were rooms with doors open along it; they seemed to be private sitting rooms. About halfway down the hallway, Morondo turned into one, waiving Mairon ahead of him and shutting the door behind them. Mairon walked over to the chairs in a large patch of sunlight, sinking gracefully into one as Morondo took one opposite from him.

"I know you have had a difficult time here, since your return," Morondo began in an even voice. "Those of us who once served Melkor ourselves should have supported you. We have not done so, and for that, we apologize." Mairon raised an eyebrow.

"I would have been highly shocked if you had," he said bluntly. "It is not as if there was any loyalty among us when we were all Morgoth's. In fact, he rather discouraged that."

"That is true, but we have sought to overcome that, and to build the loyalty we should have had," Morondo explained. "We failed to extend that to you." Mairon shook his head.

"What would you have done?" he asked. "If, as you say, you feel like you should have aided me with the difficulties I have faced since returning. Indeed, with the way things have gone, trying to aid me might only have damaged your own standing and safety here." Morondo bowed his head.

"I will admit that fear was a large reason we have not reached out to you," he said. "At first, we did not want to intrude too soon; then you were in Mandos, and you are the only one of us who serves there. Once you did start coming out, the attacks began so quickly, and many of us were frightened about what they could mean for us. So far, nothing has happened, though that could still change. But we should have reached out to you, to try to help you, even if it was just to try to let you know you are not alone. And for that, I am sorry." Mairon shook his head again.

"If there is risk to you, then you did the right thing," he said emphatically. "I would have felt terrible had any of you attempted anything and been dragged down into this mess. You speak of creating here what we should have had under Morgoth. I was a leader there—a poor one, perhaps, but still—so it is my job to protect you all." Mairon leaned forward to grip Morondo's forearm.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "Thank you for protecting yourselves. You did the right thing." Morondo's smile was a touch shaky.

"Thank you, Mairon," Morondo said quietly. "And for what it is worth, I have never thought you a poor leader. You did much to protect us: your skill kept many of us from punishment."

"Perhaps," Mairon said. "But I did not do all that I should have. And I did not think to learn what had become of you all. To attempt to rectify that—what happened to you all, after the Battle of the Powers?" Morondo exhaled.

"After we were captured...the Valar were gentle. We were terrified, as you can well imagine, and the Valar had pity upon us in our terror. Those of us who had served Melkor from the beginning were not tried at all, and most of us were given straight into Lady Nienna's keeping. Those who had left the service of others of the Valar to join Melkor were tried; but as many as wanted second chances were given them. There were a few, of course, who had enjoyed what they had under Melkor, and refused to stop attempted to dominate others—the Valar took them away. I do not know what became of them.

"The rest of us built lives here. Many of the Valar worked with us to help us heal, and there are many of us who took oath with Lady Nienna, or with Lord Irmo or Lady Estë. Fewer took oath with Lady Varda, Lady Vána, Lord Ulmo, and Lord Manwë, but there are some of us. One or two serve Lady Yavanna. There are a pair of sisters who chose to serve Lady Nessa. I do not believe any chose to serve Lord Aulë, Lord Oromë, or Lord Tulkas, but we do have ties to their people—I'm married to Ilsarina, myself," Morondo finished with a smile. Mairon gave a startled smile.

"Congratulations!" he said. "I would not have guessed that of her—but it seems things among Aulë's folk have changed. Much for the better, it seems. But you have left two of the Valar out of your recital—what of my own lord, and his lady? I would have assumed many would have taken service with them, since you say many serve the rest of their family."

"We probably would have," Morondo admitted. "But we were not given such an option." Mairon looked utterly shocked, words failing him.

"Remember Melkor was imprisoned there, during this time," Morondo advised him. "Lord Námo took none of those rescued, as he was concerned they would constantly be fearful, knowing where Melkor was. And later, the Valar decided they did not want to risk any of us serving there. When Melkor was released, we were kept away from Valmar, as well. The ban upon us serving in Mandos was removed at that point, but the vast majority of us had already take service with a different Vala, and were happy." Mairon hummed thoughtfully.

"I can see my lord's point for not taking any of you in the beginning," he said. "I cannot say I would be comfortable there myself if Morgoth were imprisoned there. The longer ban seems odd to me, though doubtless they had their reasons." Morondo shrugged.

"It has turned out well enough," he said simply. "And I wish it had turned out as well for you. Are you certain there is nothing we can do to assist you against those who are attacking you? We have tried to keep our eyes and ears open for anything that could be usefully, but frankly, if there was anything to find, I would suspect Lady Vairë's people to find it first." Mairon sighed heavily.

"Aye, whoever is plotting this is good about it not getting tied back to them," he said. "I cannot figure out what motives they have—and Lord Námo believes those motives might be changing, which doesn't help."

"All I can think is that it has to be you," Morondo said quietly. "You are the only Lieutenant who returned, true, and you returned alone—but if I had to wager a guess, this seems personal."

"I thought it might have been someone who was upset about my pardon," Mairon said with a thoughtful frown. "But if you're saying that the Valar treated all of you the same way..."

"Perhaps even a little bit more leniently," Morondo commented.

"Then you are right, it can't just be someone upset in the abstract," Mairon mused. "But who hates me so much? Ilmarë, but she would never betray her lady that way..." He looked out the window, the bright sunlight illuminating him. Though Morondo had never seen him in those circumstances, the thoughtful frown on the other Maia's face reminded him sharply that Mairon had been Melkor's best strategist, and that he was both quite powerful, and quite brilliant. It was a shame, Morondo thought, that Melkor had abused him the way he had. Serving a good Vala, who would have brought out Mairon's strengths without the distortion Melkor had wrought, would have created a Maia who stood equal to Eönwë and Ilmarë. A pity, Morondo mused. If that had happened, the Maiar targeting Mairon wouldn't have had a chance.

"Well, I believe you are right, though it brings me no closer to solving this," Mairon broke off his musing with a sigh. "And to that end: the best thing you all can do to help me is to keep your heads down. The last thing this needs is to excite further rebellion by those who may have disagreed with the Valar's treatment of you. If it has faded from memory that there are those who once served Morgoth among them—keep it faded." Morondo bowed his head.

"We will continue to do so, then," he said heavily. "Know that our thoughts and hopes are with you, though, for whatever that is worth."

"They are worth a great deal to me," Mairon said softly. "And I thank you all for them."

Morondo smiled one last time, then stood and went to the door. He hesitated only for a moment when he got there, but Mairon caught the quick searching thought of the other Maia, checking to see if there was anyone outside who would see him leave. It was something that was completely commonplace—in Utumno and Angband.

Morondo clearly thought nothing of it, but Mairon bit his lip, the other Maia's actions bothering him more than he wanted to admit. Morondo had healed from what had happened, Mairon was confident about that. That he still carried habits from earlier times was distressing.

Perhaps it is because he served under Melkor from the beginning. Mairon mused. And I did not, so I should not continue to act like I had to under Morgoth.

It didn't fully convince him, but he clung to it stubbornly. He was not going to let that horrible portion of his life dictate anything for him in the future. The bindings on his mind were removed; he would be able to reclaim who he truly was.

Feeling an almost unbearable need to move, Mairon slipped out the door himself, not caring where his feet took him in the attempt to suppress his unease.

It was a mistake.

Suddenly, his senses went blank. The void...

No! Mairon cried mentally. He had planned, he distantly knew, planned over and over what he should do in this situation, but he could only remember the first thing...

Run!

He ran, and managed to startle his attackers just enough to see dimly. He turned a corner, and his sight returned, as did his hearing. He wasn't free of them, though: he couldn't escape mentally, and he couldn't call Námo. He shut his mind as tightly as he could, and it seemed to help him focus on what he could do physically. He needed to find aid, or to find some place to hide, while he tried to get free...

There was a set of rooms ahead. The door was barely ajar, and there was noise behind them. Someone was there. Still mostly panicking, acting on a few scraps of planning and a large amount of old instinct, Mairon bolted into them, and came face to face with the Maia within. It was Ilmarë.

"Ilmarë," Mairon said in shock, stunned into stillness and still not thinking clearly.

"Get out," Ilmarë replied, her voice and eyes as cold as the void that awaited Mairon outside her rooms.

"Ilmarë," Mairon tried again desperately, his voice beginning to rise.

"Get out, I said," she cut him off harshly, rising from her seat.

"Ilmarë, please," Mairon begged.

"I said get out!" her voice rising to a shout. Her will slammed into Mairon at the same time, leaving him reeling and staggering back towards the door. He looked up, dazed, as the older Maia came towards him, fury and hatred on her features. Without another word, Mairon turned and bolted, dodging out her door and fleeing down the hallway as quickly as he could. He still hadn't managed to free himself from the bindings that kept him from fleeing mentally. This was going to be bad, so bad...

He was proven right only a second later. And as the darkness fell again, one thought rang in Mairon's bewildered mind, a cold certainty in the pit of his belly. He'd only been saved last time when Nyeleccaner had come to save him. This time, no one was coming.

Námo. We need you. Now.

The urgency in Manwë's mental voice had the other Vala moving before he'd fully processed it. He arrived at a scene he knew would haunt his nightmares, and was his deepest fear come to life. One of his children lay there, broken and unresponsive. One of his children had been hurt, and he hadn't been there to protect him...

Námo broke free of his paralysis before it had lasted a fraction of a second, and went to his knees beside Mairon, careful to stay out of Estë's way. The Valië had clearly arrived only an instant before Námo himself had, and she was still assessing his state.

"He's still here with us," Estë murmured. "His fána hasn't failed, and I think I can keep it that way. His fëa...he's fled deep within himself, I think. You'll know more than me, though, Námo."

Almost terrified of what he would find, Námo reached a mental hand towards the Maia. He immediately encountered the bindings that had kept Mairon from being able to return to Mandos, or to call his lord, but there were outside of the Maia's mental shields, and Námo shoved his anger to the back of his own mind and cleared them away. Once they were gone...Námo gave an abrupt sigh of relief. The mental shields underneath were intact, and showed no sign of assault. They had not tried to hurt Mairon that way. They were closed as tightly as Mairon could close them, though, and the Maia's presence was flickering behind them like a distant lantern on a foggy night. He caressed then gently for a moment, and noticed a faint relaxation run through them.

"I believe you are right, Estë," he said, quietly, opening his eyes again. "He was prevented from fleeing or calling for me, but he was not assaulted psychically. I believe I will be able to call him back."

He looked over the Maia again, trying for detachment, but failing miserably. Mairon had been severely beaten, and clearly they hadn't stopped once he was unconscious. Námo squeezed his eyes shut at the sight of Mairon's hands, which he always protected so fiercely. Battered and raw and broken, and it looked like someone had stomped on the right one...

Manwë had moved around beside Námo, and gripped his shoulder tightly. When the first sob shuddered out of the younger Vala, Manwë pulled him into the tightest embrace he could give. This wasn't the first time Manwë had held Námo while he cried, and while the Lord of Mandos would usually only allow such a thing when they were alone, the Elder King also knew just how badly this hurt Námo. Tears trickled down his own face as he gently rocked the younger Vala. Mairon was so dear to him, as well...

As for Námo, what little part of him that was still thinking rationally knew that while breaking down here and now might not be his first choice, it was probably his best. He could not do anything to help Mairon at the moment, and he needed to deal with his own emotions, at least somewhat, before he would be able to provide the stability Mairon would desperately need when he awoke. So he clung to Manwë and just let himself feel. A short time later, he felt his wife and siblings arrive as well, and they clustered around him, wordlessly promising comfort and protection for both him and Mairon. Their support let his tears finally begin to abate, and when he felt his little brother's presence, offering sleep without being haunted by what had just occurred, he gratefully took it.

Manwë looked up from the now sleeping Námo, noting that Estë had managed to arrange Mairon more comfortably, and was beginning to work on some of the lesser wounds like his broken limbs, which was encouraging. That meant any sort of internal trauma that might cause his fána to shut down had been dealt with. Manwë knew that the shift to a more hopefully outlook hadn't just been caused by that, though, and he gave Nienna a small weak smile of gratitude. Her steady presence and power was dulling the horror of this situation into true sorrow, and offering hope that they would get through this. Nienna returned a sad smile of her own, dipping her head in acknowledgement, though the steady stream of her own tears did not slacken, as she carefully assisted Estë in trying to get Mairon to swallow.

Manwë took a deep breath, leaning unto Nienna's strength for a moment more, before beginning to take charge of the situation.

"Estë, when will we be able to move him?" he asked softly, in deference to Námo who was still asleep in his arms.

"As long as we are careful, we can move him now," Estë responded. "Where would we be moving him to?"

"Probably Mandos, unless you think it's absolutely necessary to take him to Lórien," Manwë responded with a quick glance down at Námo. "Námo's not going to want him out of his sight, and will feel the best with him safe in Mandos. Mairon, too, will probably feel the most safe in his own rooms."

"Mandos will be fine," Estë said. "As long as Námo and Vairë have no problem with my people coming and going for a while.

"No problem at all," Vairë said softly. "Manwë is right, Námo will want him home."

"Let's get him home, then," Estë said softly. "Irmo, Nienna, Vairë, will you aid me in that?" The three assented, and after some careful coordination, they were gone. Manwë carefully re-arranged Námo in his arms, as even asleep the other Vala sensed the departure of the others and began to stir. Manwë thought both of them to Námo and Vairë's sitting room and settled down on the couch. Even the familiar surroundings couldn't fully soothe Námo, though, and he roused, blinking sleepily up at Manwë.

"Mairon?" he asked, his voice blurred with sleep and tears.

"He's here," Manwë soothed. "We brought him home. Nienna and Vairë and Estë and Irmo are with him. Sleep, Námo. Mairon is far from waking, but you need to take care of yourself so you are ready when he is." Námo rubbed a hand over his face, but sat up.

"I need to see him," he said quietly. "I promise I will sleep, but I need to see him first." Manwë pursed his lips, but allowed Námo to climb to his feet without hinderance, and followed the younger Vala to Mairon's room.

The Maia's room had been transformed into an excellent sickroom, but things were calm at the moment. Estë had settled down in a chair at Mairon's bedside, and Nienna had settled into the couch closer to the fire and was humming softly. Irmo and Vairë were standing, talking softly, and Manwë had the impression they had been planning to go find Námo, as they broke off when he came in. Námo practically ignored them all, drawn to Mairon's bedside as if it were a lodestone.

"I don't think he slept in this bed longer than the first month he was here," Námo said in an odd detached voice, running a gentle finger over the blankets covering the drugged and sleeping Maia. Vairë smoothly came to his side, tucking herself into him and catching his hands.

"He'll be back in with us soon, and until then he is safe here," she soothed. "Nienna and Estë will spend the night with him. You can take over tomorrow. Come with me, now, and rest. He will need you when he wakes."

Námo nodded absently, then tore his gaze away from his youngest Maia and buried his face in Vairë's hair for a moment, then allowed his wife to lead him from the room. Irmo left just a moment later, nodding to Manwë. Manwë himself sighed softly, walking over to study Mairon's now peaceful face for a moment more, before leaving himself. His last impressions of the room were the fire's crackle, and Nienna's soft humming.

Námo sighed as he looked down on Mairon's sleeping form. He had decided not to wake the Maia until he was mostly healed. He would tell Mairon of his injuries, if he asked, but he wanted to spare the Maia of anything he hadn't already had to witness.

Gently, Námo reached out and began to stroke the Maia's hair. He'd worked with Irmo over the proceeding few days to call Mairon back and to ease him into healing dreams. Irmo had shifted him into a state where he could awaken this morning, and Námo knew delaying things further wouldn't help matters.

Mairon stirred sleepily at the touch, finally blinking his eyes open to look at Námo. He stirred, and a faint frown crossed his features. Námo knew he had to still be quite stiff.

"My lord?" he began to ask, before memory clearly connected, as his face suddenly closed down in deep distress.

"It's alright, Mairon," Námo soothed. "You are home. You are home and you are safe."

"I was attacked again," Mairon said, his voice soft.

"Yes," Námo answered, wishing he could give a different one. "What do you remember?"

Námo wished with his whole being that he did not have to ask that question. But Mairon was the only one who could give them any information about the attack. Morondo had been asked, but the horrified Maia had only been able to tell them of when he had left Mairon. Poor Morondo was feeling quite guilty over the whole thing, as was Manwë. Námo had tried to do what he could, but his time was taken more with Mairon, and the Vala knew the best healing for Morondo and Manwë would be to see Mairon whole again.

"I had visited with Morondo," Mairon said in a tone barely above a whisper, his face still closed down in that emotionless mask that everyone who loved the young Maia hated. "I was thinking about some things. I wasn't paying attention to where I was or what I was doing. I was attacked the same way as last time. Blank darkness. I...I did try. I pulled away physically, and tried to run. I couldn't get out of the bindings that prevented me from calling you, but I was able return my physical senses. I was looking for help, or a place to hide while I tried to free myself fully. I ran into Ilmarë's room. I didn't know they were hers. She threw me out. She wouldn't listen to me. That delayed me too long. They found me again just after that. I couldn't escape from them again."

Mairon bowed his head, clearly finished with his tale. Námo let the mental connection he'd established with the other Valar fade, but not before he'd caught both Manwë and Varda's stricken pain about Ilmarë's involvement, and Varda's adamant determination to do something about her Maia.

"Thank you for telling me that, Mairon," Námo said softly, sitting gently beside the Maia who had pulled himself up to sitting in his bed, head angled towards his knees. Mairon didn't encourage any physical contact, but didn't reject it either, as Námo gently wrapped an arm around him.

"Mairon?" Námo prompted after a few moments, when he could feel the Maia's muscles stiffening.

"How long?" came the reply. The words were a quiet snarl.

"Until?" Námo asked, locking down his own emotions as tightly as possible, bracing for the explosion.

"Until I am no longer a damned thrall!" Mairon shouted with all the force of his will behind it, shoving himself to his feet and tearing out of Námo's hold.

"It should be over," he snarled, pacing like a caged wolf. "I am free of him. The last of his enslavement is gone from my mind. And yet I still! I still cowered, I still failed."

Námo quickly reached out and reinforced the emotional dampening layer that Mandos had been built with. That layer was designed to protect against the emotional outbursts of the Elves, not a Maia of Mairon's power. He could hold it, and though the other Maiar would probably feel it, the fëar would not, and that was the important point.

"I was supposed to be free," Mairon said in a voice strangled in rage and hate and fear. "I was supposed to be healed. I have all my memories back! Why can I not be who I was?" Tears were beginning to fill his eyes and voice now, tears of anger and pain. "I thought this would be the end. Why? Why I am I not healed? How much more must I suffer? How much more will it take until I am free? How long?! Why?!"

Mairon's voice had been growing louder and higher throughout, and finally, he simply tilted back his head and wailed, a piercing note that indicated both grief and overwhelming pain. It went on and on, then abruptly ceased, and Mairon collapsed, completely unresponsive.

Well, OK, this chapter's been done for a while. I wanted to get the next one finished before I posted this-for obvious reasons-but it's not going swimmingly. So if you'd like to help feed the muse, after you're done screaming because of this chapter, the muse humbly requests the following:

1. Stories about weddings. Yours, your friends, family, good stories, bad stories, hilarious stories, stories you feel terrible for laughing about, anything.

2. Your opinion about the following: when Ingwë is faced with a potential threat, is he more likely to 1. confront it, or 2. watch it warily from across the room?

The muse would like to humbly thank everyone in advance.