Hey, I only left you a couple months on that cliffhanger. *And* this chapter is the longest one in this story so far.
Ilmarë was in her rooms, staring East out from her windows, thinking about Eönwë. They weren't communicating much at the moment, due to distance and the fact Eönwë was trying to think more like a mortal. Which did not include talking to his sister at a distance. Eönwë wasn't all that great at long-distance osanwë, anyway.
She sighed softly as she heard the door to her rooms click open, then close again. Ilmarë turned to look who it was, then stood in surprise and began to walk forward as she realized it was her lady standing in the doorway. She only got a few steps towards Varda, though, before the Valië's voice stopped her cold.
"Well, daughter, I have been aiding those who sought to find those who harmed Mairon. I never expected to find that one of them was my own."
Ilmarë stared in confusion, not understanding the coldness of Varda's tone.
"You have found those who have been rebelling?" she asked tentatively, not certain where her lady was going, but it was clear Varda expected a response.
"Just one," Varda answered in the same tone. "She is not involved with those who have been attempting to destroy Mairon for some time now. However, she denied him aid as he was attempting to flee from this last assault. He fled unknowing to her rooms, it seems, but she allowed her hatred of him to deny him sanctuary, and turned him out to the non-existent mercy of those who tormented him."
Ilmarë's mouth dried and her face paled as she recognized her own actions in her lady's words.
"And then, furthermore, she hid her own involvement in this affair, though she knew we were seeking information about what had occurred from anyone who knew anything." The look Varda gave her then was terrible. Still so cold, but so full of disappointment and betrayal that it was all Ilmarë could do not to collapse under its weight.
"Is your hatred of him really what you value most, Ilmarë?" she asked. "More than your loyalty to me, to my other children, to all of you beautiful ones, that I made you lady over, second only to your brother?"
"No!" Ilmarë exclaimed in desperation. "How is my loyalty in question because of my hatred for him? He hurt us, hurt all those you just named! He is the reason Almaren fell, the Lamps destroyed, and the first true home we had been able to craft taken from us!"
"Melkor is the one responsible for that, actually," Varda said, with a biting edge to her words as cold as the void between the stars. "Mairon did give him the information, it is true, but he was ignorant of what Melkor intended to do with it, and he had just been betrayed in a very real way by Aulë. And Melkor needed more information to carry out that attack than what he received from Mairon. Mairon knew nothing of how they were guarded.
"But if you wish to continued to blame Mairon for the destruction of the Lamps, to say that he deserves punishment for that, I will accept that measure. What judgement of you must I make by it, however? You threw Mairon out when he sought sanctuary with you. You abandoned him to his tormentors, who not only beat him into unconscious, but caused him severe emotional distress. He is unresponsive. Your actions caused Námo's deepest fears to come to life before his eyes. Your actions have led to the terror of many of the Maiar, wondering if they will be next. You speak of Mairon hurting all those you have sworn to protect—I state now that you have done the same."
"My part in this was unwitting!" Ilmarë protested. "And I am not responsible for how others acted!"
"And the same is true for Mairon in the destruction of the Lamps," Varda rebutted.
"It's not the same," Ilmarë protested weakly.
"How?" Varda challenged, cold and implacable. "How is it not?"
Ilmarë did not answer. She did not have one, and a horrible feeling was rising within her. One she knew too well. One she had shrunk from, raged against, and sought to hide from. This time, though, she did not think any of those would work.
"What shall I do, daughter?" Varda asked, her voice still cold and remote. "How else shall I judge your actions, save by the standards you have set yourself?"
Ilmarë wrapped her arms around herself, turning away from her lady. It didn't help much, as she could still feel the Valië's implacable will at her back. She hadn't been that bad, had she? She hadn't meant to...but Mairon hadn't either...but it had hurt her so much.
"I don't know how to forgive him," she finally admitted in a tiny voice. "I don't know how. I loved Almaren so much, I finally felt safe, and that our people were safe. I've not felt that since. Not even now. And he took that from me. I know he didn't mean to, but he took that from me." The stark realization that she had caused another that same pain sent her to her knees. She was also feeling insecure in a way that was very rare for her. She didn't know how Varda would react, and she understood she'd deeply disappointed her lady, something that frightened her on a very visceral level. Compounding that was the trauma she'd repressed for so long, and all she could do was curl in on herself helplessly.
"Oh, Ilmarë," Varda sighed, and to Ilmarë's utter relief her voice was warm as she moved forward, sinking to the floor as well as she pulled the Maia into her arms. Ilmarë cuddled close, needing the reassurance in a way she'd been denying herself for far too long.
"My precious daughter," Varda hummed into her hair. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I did not want to seem weak," Ilmare admitted in a small voice. "And once Valinor had been built, I thought it would go away with time, until the Trees died. Then I just ignored it, but then we went to war again, and Eönwë was gone, and I was so frightened for him. And I was responsible for everyone, and I was so frightened for them all. And not all of them did come back whole. And then Eönwë left again, and I know it's been good for him, but I miss him…" she had to stop, swallowing against the large lump in her throat.
"And I wanted to be angry," she admitted when she could speak again. "I wanted to be angry, because it was better than being scared. And Mairon was right there. I know, rationally, that I should not be so angry towards him. But I don't know how to stop."
"Do you want to?" Varda asked softly. Ilmarë hesitated.
"I don't know," she finally admitted. "I...I think I am scared to stop being so angry. The thought of it feels like stripping naked on the battlefield." She slumped dejectedly in Varda's hold, realizing for the first time how dangerous of a state she was in.
"I'm sorry, my lady," she said in pitiful little voice. "I didn't mean to be so bad."
"Oh Ilmarë," Varda breathed. "You are not bad, my brave, beautiful daughter. You have been asked to shoulder a burden that none should ever have to. My brave daughter, the war is over. You can come home, and leave the battlefield behind."
Ilmarë closed her eyes, as tears finally began to spill. "I wish I could believe that," she whispered.
"Will you let me help you?" Varda asked gently. "Will you let me help you feel safe again, and finally heal from this wound you have kept concealed for far too long? Trust me, my daughter, please."
"I do trust you, my lady," Ilmarë replied, still in a whisper. "It is myself, and Arda Marred that I no longer trust."
"Then trust me," Varda whispered. "Trust Atar. And let us lead you home."
Ilmarë wiped her eyes, sniffling a bit, and then wrapped her arms around the Valië's neck, burying her face in Varda's shoulder, just as she had when she was very young, feeling Varda's hand stroke her hair as the Valië hummed the soft melody that was one of Ilmarë's earliest memories.
Aulë was quite surprised when Námo contacted him, telling him Mairon wanted to speak with him. He, like all the Valar, had been anxiously absorbing any scrap of news about how the young Maia was doing, and by all accounts (the most reliable being Námo's) Mairon was still incredibly fragile and hurting.
But since Aulë was comfortably ensconced in a sitting room in the mansion he and Yavanna shared in Valmar, he told Námo that Mairon was certainly welcome, and that he was in a place that shouldn't upset the Maia. A few seconds later, Mairon himself appeared, and Aulë saw for himself how hurt the Maia was, as he looked at the Vala with such frightened hesitancy.
"Hello Mairon," Aulë said softly, offering his hands to the Maia, as he smiled gently. Skills he'd learned late, with the shy elven children. Skills he wished he'd had sooner. Aulë shook himself out of that line of thought. The past could not be changed, and Mairon needed him in the present. It was hard, though, not to think of that past, when Mairon was acting just as shyly as he had been those very first days in Aulë's service.
But thankfully, Mairon responded to Aulë's attempt to set him at ease, and took the Vala's hands, climbing into his lap and cuddling down.
"I, I remembered something, and wanted you to know," Mairon said very softly and hesitantly.
"Oh?" Aulë asked. "What is that?"
"It was before Melkor realized I was becoming friends with Melyanna," the Maia responded. "I was making her some bracelets, and you came in just when I was pulling them out of the molds. You asked me what I was doing, and when I told you, you asked if she had requested them. I told you she hadn't, that I just wanted to make something beautiful for her. You got this odd expression on your face, that I couldn't interpret, but then you patted my shoulder and told me it was very kindly done, and that she was sure to love them." Mairon's voice had gotten stronger though his story, though Aulë couldn't have spoken if he'd tried. His throat seemed to have sealed itself shut.
"I felt wonderful," Mairon continued after a short pause. He looked up at the Vala with a small smile. "I just wanted you to know I did have happy memories of you, that Morgoth took."
The burning in Aulë's eyes finally turned into tears, but he wrenched his throat open as he tightened his hold on the little Maia, burying his face in his hair.
"I'm so glad that is the case, Mairon," he said hoarsely. "So very, very glad."
They stayed like that for a time, until Aulë was taking deep breaths to rein back in his emotions.
"Finrod's wedding is coming up," Mairon commented.
"Yes, I know," Aulë answered, letting go of Mairon with one hand to wipe his eyes. "It's the talk of all of Valinor. Many people are seeing it as a sign of the healing of Valinor after the Darkening." Mairon shrugged.
"I'm glad he's happy," the Maia said. "I'm going—Istamírë and Almaron are too, so I think I'll manage it." Aulë smiled gently at the Maia.
"I'm glad you'll be able to go," he said. "I know you're good friends with him. I'm sure he'll be very happy you're able to be there as well." Mairon gave a brief smile at that.
"I'll need to visit the forges again to make their presents," Mairon told Aulë.
"You're welcome any time, Mairon," Aulë assured him. "Just let me know when and I'll be there. What where you thinking to make?"
Mairon's smile shaded into a true one, as his eyes grew a bit brighter. Aulë's heart rejoiced to see it, as the Maia began to tell his former lord his plans.
Arafinwë thought his heart would burst with joy, which made a welcome change from all the times he thought his heart would break with sorrow. For the first time in an Age, his family was expanding, rather than contracting. Next to him, Eärwen seemed to be having similar thoughts, their hands tightly intertwined where few would see it, as they watched their beloved firstborn wed at last.
Eldarin marriage ceremonies were quite simple, reflecting that they had changed little since Cuivienen. Even the marriage of the crown prince didn't change much, except in the size of the feast that would follow.
Arafinwë made it through the ceremony without crying, though his throat closed once or twice, and Eärwen dabbed at her eyes a few times. Once finished, all the guests spread across the fields where the feast was held, tables groaning with food and drink and many more ready for the people who would be consuming it. The little knot of Finrod's Maiarin friends caught his eye, and he smiled. While the Valar never attended weddings, as to not drag attention away from the bride and groom, their Maiar sometimes did, though it was rare. But Finrod had good friends among them, due to his time in Mandos, and three of them were there today, all of them Námo's people, and all of them instrumental in returning his son to life, Arafinwë knew. He still found himself amazed, sometimes, that he had managed to forgive his son's murderer. But Finrod's own forgiveness of Mairon was a large part of the reason he had, as well as the fact that Finrod had informed both of his parents of the story Beren and Lúthien had told him of what had been done to the Maia.
He walked over, hand in hand with Eärwen, as Finrod and Amarië did the same. Mairon did not look well, Arafinwë noted with concern as he got closer. It was nothing exceptionally noticeable, but there seemed to be a haunted fear deep in the Maia's eyes, and he seemed to be almost cowering close to Istamírë, who, he realized, seemed to be discretely protective of the younger Maia. That was concerning. He hoped nothing was seriously amiss.
"Congratulations to you both," Istamírë said with a brilliant smile for the newlyweds. "I'm so glad to finally see you both reach this day."
"You thought I'd be lurking in your lord's halls forever, didn't you," Finrod quipped with a grin, prompting laughs from Istamírë and Almaron, and a smile from Mairon.
"No, actually, you were one I thought was going to be reborn," Istamírë responded. "Now, some of your family….yes. Hmm, Mairon, maybe we should talk to Lord Námo about having some of the people who have successfully been reborn come and try to talk some sense into the stubborn ones?" Mairon smiled and shrugged.
"Might be worth a shot," he admitted. "Don't get your hopes too high, though, I don't think you're going to get rid of the really troublesome ones that way." Istamírë gave an exaggerated sigh as her husband and the elves laughed.
"Well, enough of that, and on to the important things, namely: presents," Istamírë said with another grin towards her husband, who was holding the largest gift.
"First off, because it's the most unwieldy, this is from my lord and his lady," Istamírë said as she carefully handed a smaller wrapped package off to Mairon and helped her husband display the large roll of fabric he was holding. Ingwë, who had been somewhat nearby, wandered over to look as well. He shot Mairon an assessing look as he did, but his attention was quickly caught by the gift Námo and Vairë had sent.
It was a tapestry, full sized, of Finrod and Amarië's story. Their first meeting in the days of their youth, their bitter parting during the Darkening, their first reunion beyond all darkness, and finally their wedding, in faithful enough reproduction that Arafinwë understood how Námo had been involved in this gift.
"Oh, it's beautiful," Amarië breathed, and Eärwen seconded her. Discussions about where it should be hung immediately occupied the two, and Arafinwë and Finrod exchanged an amused grin. Istamírë chuckled, as she and Almaron rolled the tapestry safely up again. Almaron took it fully once it was rolled, and Istamírë took back the smaller package that was her and Almaron's gift from Mairon, and handed it off to Finrod. Once unwrapped, he opened it to find a beautifully bound and illuminated book. His breath caught as he realized that it was in Taliska.
"It's stories and legends from Bëor's people and their ancestors," Istamírë said with a soft smile. She then grinned more openly. "We thought it might be helpful when you go take on the linguists of Tirion about the validity of mortal languages." Arafinwë laughed out loud on that one, and Amarië gave her new husband an amused, indulgent look as Finrod grinned sheepishly. He was becoming known for deeming the lore masters of the Noldor too closed minded when it came to the Secondborn and their crafts, and Arafinwë thought his son would certainly make use of the book.
Mairon was holding two cases, jewelry cases by their design. He handed the large one to Amarië, and the smaller one to Finrod, with a soft, surprisingly shy smile. Amarië wasn't holding anything else, unlike Finrod, and so managed to open her case first, and gave a stunned gasp when she did.
It was a necklace, crafted primarily in gold, though when Amarië held it up, Finrod knew it had to be a mix, as it was not heavy enough to be pure gold. The basis of the chain was an intricately woven plait of golden knotwork. Woven through all of it were metal roses and myrtle blossoms, done in stunning detail, the myrtle blossoms especially showcasing Mairon's skill. The necklace was asymmetrical, heavier on the right side, with a pair of doves in flight, angled towards the wearer's shoulder.
Finrod opened his own case to find a brooch to match the necklace. A pair of doves in flight, again, surrounded by roses and myrtles and golden knotwork.
"They're stunning, Mairon," Finrod said sincerely. Amarië nodded her agreement.
"I'm glad you like them," Mairon said, smiling more openly now.
"We really do—all of them," Finrod said, including Istamírë and Almaron in his statement. "And thank you all so much for being here today. It does truly mean so much to me, especially as I probably would still be lurking in your lord's halls without you and your aid."
That statement prompted hugs, and softly spoken words of deep friendship between the four. Once the moment of emotion was mostly over, Almaron offered to carry the tapestry over to the area that had been designated to hold the gifts the newlyweds were going to receive, which was across the field from where they were standing.
"We had best head over there ourselves, my love," Amarië said. "Otherwise, we shall find ourselves besieged by gifts, far from aid." Finrod laughed at that, and hand in hand with his bride, joined by Eärwen and Almaron, they left in that direction. Arafinwë grew slightly nervous as he realized that with their departure, the party standing there only included himself, Ingwë, Istamírë, and Mairon. He knew full well what Ingwë's opinion of the younger Maia was, and Istamírë already seemed to be feeling rather protective of Mairon. This could be bad.
"You really are truly talented, Mairon," Arafinwë said, mostly to keep the conversation from dying under the assessing gaze Ingwë was giving that Maia. "I knew you were a smith, but I did not know your skills where equal to the best I know."
Ingwë's eyes abruptly darkened, and Arafinwë did his best to keep his wince internal. He knew too well where Ingwë's mind had just shot to, because of course among the best smiths Arafinwë knew was his half-brother. And reminding Ingwë of Fëanor was never a good idea.
"Yes," Ingwë said in a cool voice, now looking at the Maia with open dislike. "I suppose he is at that."
Mairon's first reaction was to flinch back, to run, to hide, but there was also a spark of anger over the unfairness of Ingwë's reaction that he focused on instead. Of all the things this Elf could dislike him for, he'd chosen his smithcraft? For the fact that in his old skills he could apparently rival Fëanor? He wasn't quite sure what the appropriate course of action was, given he was at Finrod's wedding, but Arafinwë was watching Ingwë with well hidden nervousness, nervousness that Mairon realized with a rush wasn't all because of the current situation. Had Ingwë done something to Arafinwë for his connection to Fëanor? Mairon liked Arafinwë. This situation was already uncomfortable, he could make it a little more. And maybe bring some things to the surface that needed to be brought there.
"Judge me for my own crimes, as everyone knows there are plenty," Mairon said softly. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't judge me for Fëanor's. Do you see Aulë, or Nyeleccaner, now tainted by the skills of their hands? Yes, I am a smith. Yes, I am a very skilled one. But I am hardly the only Ainu in Valinor who can truthfully say that." Ingwë drew himself up in indignation.
"I have a duty to my people," he said. "What Fëanor did hurt so many of them. I have a duty to ensure nothing like that happens again."
"Condemning anyone or anything you think might do that without any justice to it won't protect your people," Mairon responded, managing to pull off a dry, idle tone. "All you'll do with that approach is make sure the pain of Fëanor's betrayal never fades—in your heart, certainly, and probably in those of all those around you, or who look to you for guidance. Which, as you pointed out yourself, encompasses quite a lot of people you feel a commendable amount of duty towards!
"Fëanor cannot hurt you now," Mairon went on softly, fixing Ingwë with a penetrating gaze. "He can't hurt any of your people. Nor can Morgoth. I know that's hard to emotionally grasp that." He gave a small laugh that sent shivers down the spine of all listening.
"Believe me, I know that all too well," he went on. "But you do have to try, or you'll never get anywhere! And then they will have truly won. Is that what you want?"
Ingwë turned away, his lips a thin line. Arafinwë watched him warily. He could hardly blame the Maia for defending himself, and Finrod and Amarië were on the other side of the field speaking with others of their guests, but if he were being honest with himself, he feared Ingwë when it came to the subject of Fëanor. Even Eärwen didn't know that Ingwë had summoned him shortly after his return to Tirion, clearly planning to punish him, and the Noldor through him, for what had happened. The Valar had not allowed that to happen, and so Arafinwë wasn't certain what Ingwë had planned to do—and he didn't want to know—but part of him was still that new-made king, abandoned by every last member of his family, and terrified for his people and himself.
"Fëanor and Morgoth can no longer hurt us, you say," Ingwë said slowly. "What about you?"
"What about me?" Mairon retorted. "What about Ossë? What about all the other Maiar here who once fell to the Darkness but who were rescued from it? There are more here who once served Morgoth than you know. I have proved my repentance to the Valar. I answer to them, not to you. You will have to trust them, or not. The choice is yours."
"I do trust them," Ingwë said quietly. "It is you I don't trust. Why did you ever turn to him? And why did you come back?"
"I had a Vala after me who got what he wanted or did his level best to destroy it," Mairon returned quietly. "That is not an easy position to be in. And he promised me everything I thought I wanted. All of which turned out to be a lie, or something I didn't truly want. As for why I came back…Beren and Lúthien showed me more mercy than I deserved, healing me after Morgoth tormented me for their victory. I came back to repay them. And then I received everything that I do actually want: love and acceptance and kindness and healing. I want this new life of mine. You may not believe me, but that is the truth."
Ingwë stared into those surprisingly open golden eyes, finding no deception in them. Not even anger. There was something tired, and something wary, in them, Ingwë decided. They were the eyes of someone who had been terribly hurt, and was so, so tired of the pain. He was uncomfortably reminded of his actions just after the Darkening, where in his haste to act and take control of the situation he'd nearly destroyed his nephew, who had been under such terrible strain that he was fading, as the Valar had pointed out to him when they had firmly refused to let him do anything to punish those of the Noldor who had returned.
They had been right then, and maybe they were right now. And maybe this Maia was right as well, that he was allowing fear, and not prudence, to rule him.
"As you say, you answer to the Valar, not to me," Ingwë said aloud. "If they believe you are sincere, then I will believe as well, for the sake of my trust in them. I do not understand why they chose that route, but it is their choice to make."
"They made that choice for the same reason they have made the same choice all the times previously," Istamírë spoke up. "Because it is the right choice. Would you truly have them make a different one? To choose arbitrarily, who to forgive and who to not? To disregard both justice and mercy? To disregard healing, and to instead ensure that hurt lingers, spreads, and multiplies? They would be tyrants, then, and not teachers. None of you—or us—would wish for that."
"Of course not," Ingwë replied with a sigh. "I simply do not wish for my people to be forced to endure more pain."
"We live in Arda Marred, Ingwë," Istamírë said with a sigh of her own. "More pain is inevitable. But I am very confident it will not come at Mairon's hands. For us, regaining our lost siblings is healing, healing of ancient pain and loss. We have all suffered at Morgoth's hands, directly or indirectly. I still bear the scars he gave me, when he captured me, before Námo was able to rescue me. Mairon is right, coming to believe you are safe after that is difficult, and takes time. But not doing so just lets him win. And I'm not about to let that happen," she ended with a fierce grin, smoldering and satisfied vengeance in her eyes. Both elves stared at her in shock, never having heard her story before, or even having imagined such a thing.
"The war we fought long before your people awoke was far more brutal than most of you seem to realize," Mairon commented idly. "You're hardly the first to respond to her story that way. But we were in persistent and very real danger during all of it. But there was a more insidious danger than simply loosing. We were also in very real danger of loosing ourselves to it. That is why the Valar still act the way they do. Because if they let go of justice and mercy and all the rest in the name of the expediency of war, there would only be fifteen lords and ladies of darkness, squabbling among themselves for dominion and control, and everything else in Eä would be corrupted or destroyed. The Valar will not allow that to happen."
"And I am very grateful for it," Arafinwë said quietly. "I did see that in the war, that some of my soldiers would begin to loose themselves to it. That is a very good way to put it. I never thought about it before, but I do know what war is like. Why should the one you fought be any different?" He smiled at the Maiar before him.
"I am glad you have both made it through, if not unscathed," he said. "But as you pointed out, no one came out unscathed."
"That is true," Istamírë responded. "But there is healing to be found for those wounds."
"May it be so," Ingwë sighed.
Mairon wandered over the slopes of the Ezellohar, in sight of the Mahanaxar, where the Valar sat in council. He was doing somewhat better, but did not like the idea of being out of Námo's sight. He wandered up to the base of Laurelin, fingers gently ghosting over the spear wound that had ended her light and life. He had always felt a small kinship with the golden Tree, as her light had been so close in color to the light of his own soul. And for so long, he feared his fate would be like hers—consumed and destroyed by darkness.
Soft footsteps in the grass made him look up from his thoughts. Ilmarë stood there, and the only thing that kept him fleeing for Námo's side was the look on her face. The only looks she had given him since his return had been cold, full of anger and hate. But now, she looked at him with turmoil and guilt in her night-blue eyes.
"I...I need to—no," Ilmarë cut herself off. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I have wronged you, deeply and repeatedly. I would apologize, if it would mean anything to you. If it would not, if you would prefer that I leave, I will do so."
"I don't want you to leave," Mairon said softly, not meeting her eyes, instead retuning his gaze to the dead Tree. "As for the rest..." He paused.
"Did I truly hurt you so badly, Ilmarë?" he finally asked as he stared at a wound that had proved unhealable. "That you can truly see no way to forgive me?"
"No," Ilmarë answered hoarsely, closing her eyes against burning tears. "No. My pain was not your fault. I have been terrified for so long—for myself and all those I am responsible for—and instead of seeking healing for it, I turned my fear into anger and directed it unjustly at you. The only time I have felt safe since the early days of Eä was in Almaren, and I chose to blame you for its loss. I inflicted the very pain I was trying to deal with on you and so many others, and there are no words powerful enough to express my sorrow for that. I know that many will find my actions unforgivable," and here her voice broke, though she did not look away from the other Maia, "and I will understand if you are among those, for I believe I have wronged you the most."
"Ilmarë," Mairon said with a sudden firmness that shocked her, as he finally met her eyes fully. "Do you honestly believe that when I stand in such need of forgiveness that I would refuse to grant it to you?"
Ilmarë could only look at him in confusion, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, feeling somehow younger than Mairon, though the gap in their ages could hardly get larger in the other direction.
"Ilmarë," Mairon said again in a softer tone. "I understand. Truly. In the general principle probably more than you do. You are hardly the only person to react this way to trauma. I have seen many others do it; I have done it myself." He smiled sadly at her.
"Morgoth started stalking me soon after we entered Eä, and I have not felt safe since, except for a few brief stolen moments, and since my return, where I have felt safe in Námo's presence. I have spent the majority of my life here in Eä frightened and anxious. So I am sorry. I would not choose to inflict that on anyone else." He paused for a moment, considering.
"No, not even Morgoth. I thought for a moment I would, but not even him. I don't think it would help." He looked Ilmarë straight in the eye.
"So please believe me, Ilmarë, when I say I would never have willingly inflicted what I have upon you. And I am sorry." Ilmarë closed her eyes against a fresh wave of tears.
"I know, Mairon," she said in a choked whisper. "And I am sorry too. Sorry I have hated you with so little justice. I want to forgive you. I do. And I am going to try; and seek help with that trying. Lady Varda asked me if I wanted to forgive you, and I couldn't answer her. But I have an answer now. I will forgive you. I cannot promise it will be swift, or that I won't be angry again later. But I promise you that I will keep trying, and keep working on it until I do."
Mairon moved forward, carefully gaging her reactions, then enfolded her into his embrace. After only a moment's hesitation, she returned it.
"A very wise Maia told me that there was greater strength in admitting you were wrong and trying to make amends than in never being wrong in the first place," Mairon said softly when he let go. "You are very strong, Ilmarë. Never doubt that. And your forgiveness and friendship are worth waiting for. No matter how long it takes, I will be here when you reach it."
"Thank you," Ilmarë whispered, and this time it was she who initiated the embrace.
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