Mmm, yes, I'm updating a day early. I felt like it...and I really doubt you're complaining. :)
Chapter Six
Sauron decided he didn't like ships–or the ocean, really, but ships were worse. He silently vowed that he would never voluntarily board one again. He sighed, and shifted slightly inside the protecting and restraining circle of Eönwë's arms. He was not there because he was seasick, no, he was there because he had tried to run twice now.
The first time had been when they had been getting on the ship, everything loaded but its living cargo. He'd paused right at the gangplank, and in a sudden convulsive movement, turned to flee. Eönwë had been right there though, and had grabbed his arm, and hauled him onto the ship and down to their quarters, quite possibly without anyone noticing.
The second attempt had been just a few days ago. That time he'd made it almost to the deck, determined to shift form once he gained it and fly back to Middle-earth. Eönwë had been forced to tackle him, and both of them had some rather interesting bruises now. Eönwë hadn't let him out of his sight since, unless he was tightly tied up.
Eönwë had always looked rather guilty when he tied Sauron up, though, and so preferred to stay with him constantly. It also had the benefit of calming him slightly. The closer they got to Valinor, the tighter strung Sauron's nerves became. He closed his eyes as he heard them docking, his breath coming in short, shallow pants, almost hyperventilating.
Eönwë looked at him sympathetically, but didn't speak, knowing anything he said to try and comfort him would be empty reassurance. He thought both of them to just outside the Máhanaxar. Sauron closed his eyes again as the power radiating from the Valar washed over him. During the long Ages, he had forgotten their might, and remembering it now did nothing to help his nerves.
"Trust me, Mairon," Eönwë suddenly whispered. Sauron looked at him in confusion, and Eönwë quickly began unfastening the robes Sauron was wearing.
"Eönwë…" he said.
"Trust me," Eönwë said again. Sauron said nothing more as Eönwë led him into the center of the ring. He knelt, staring at his knees. He felt hyperaware, sensing the calluses on Eönwë's fingers as his friend brushed his hair over his shoulder to bare his back. Eönwë was making a statement, Sauron realized. He stayed silent, and as still as he could, while Eönwë succinctly made his report.
Sauron surreptitiously gripped his leggings to try and stop his fingers from shaking. He could feel the individual fibers of the cloth, focusing on them to try to keep himself calm. Eönwë finished his report, and was dismissed. He bowed and left, glancing back at Sauron as he did so.
Silence reigned, as the Valar stared at the ruined form of the Maia before them.
"Sauron Gorthaur," Manwë began. Sauron flinched. He hated that name. Maybe he deserved it from the people of Middle-earth, but that the Valar were using it as well did not bode well for his future.
"Long ago you turned in your allegiance from us; faithfully serving Melkor until his recent defeat. Now you have surrendered, and are before us pleading for mercy."
Manwë's use of the word pleading brought up horrible connotations for Sauron, and he fought back a shudder. Hopefully this wouldn't end as badly as the last time he had been forced to beg–though he wasn't holding out much hope for that.
"We have decided to be lenient to those who have made mistakes in their pasts and are truly repentant. But your chosen master knelt in this very spot and begged for mercy, deceiving us all." Manwë spoke with a much colder tone now. "We will not be deceived again."
Oh, no, Sauron thought frantically. Oh, please, no.
Manwë mentally reached out and touched the Maia's mind. His mental shields where abnormal: deeply cracked and fragile, like they had been brutally shattered, and only haphazardly put back together. They crumbled faster than the Valar had been expecting, and Mairon started screaming as memories arose of being trapped and helpless, being torn apart thought by thought in inescapable darkness.
Partially forewarned that Mairon had been tortured in the past by the physical state the Maia had been in, the Valar pulled back quickly, and more than one stared in horror at the damaged Maia curled in the center of the ring, weeping softly. Nienna gracefully rose from her throne and moved towards the Maia, kneeling down and taking Mairon in her embrace. She glanced back towards Námo, who met her gaze fully. Something passed between the siblings, and Námo nodded and rose, coming to kneel in front of her. He reached out and gently took Mairon from her. The Maia shivered, but otherwise did not react.
"Mairon," Námo said gently. "I know you don't want to tell us, but we need to hear your story." The broken Maia in his arms nodded, but didn't speak for a long moment. Finally, he uncurled slightly, just enough to be heard.
"I was good at what I did," he began. "I had to be. Everyone knew the price of failure; no one wanted to become Morgoth's next little 'project'." He broke off, shuddering. "Most failed."
"You did, eventually," Námo prompted. Mairon nodded weakly.
"I…I lost Tol Sirion," he said. "Morgoth blamed me for Beren and Lúthien fulfilling their quest. Said if I'd just killed Beren when I had the chance, they never would have won the Silmaril. It doesn't make sense, but logic never mattered to Morgoth."
"So he did this to you?" Námo asked.
"He…he…" Mairon began, brokenly.
"He tore you apart," Námo said gently. Mairon nodded once.
"Then he threw me to Gothmog," he continued after a moment. "Gothmog hated me, blamed me for his being trapped in that form." He paused, considering something. "I probably did have a hand in it," he admitted, "Though it was not my fault he failed."
"What did Gothmog want from you?" Námo asked.
"Just to hear me scream," Mairon whispered. The story continued in a rush, spilling out of the Maia. "He whipped me…then broke my arm," he briefly touched his upper left arm. "I screamed," the Maia admitted in a whisper. "He kept whipping…until I was nearly unconscious. Then he broke my leg," here his hand travelled to his right thigh. "It hurt," he said simply. "Then he grabbed my right arm, threatened to break it too, leave me helpless. He told me to beg." Mairon buried his head in Námo's chest, his next words almost too quiet to be heard. "I did," he said, sounding sick. "So he snapped my left arm instead." He was silent for a time, and Námo could feel his heart racing, fluttering like a trapped bird.
"I lost consciousness at that point," Mairon finally said. "When I re-awoke...Morgoth was there."
"And what did he do?" Námo asked when it seemed the Maia was disinclined to say anything more.
"Nothing," Mairon answered, too quickly.
"Mairon," Námo said, firmly.
"He…just spoke to me," Mairon said finally.
"What did he say?" Námo pressed. Mairon shook his head.
"It's not important," he insisted.
"Yes, it is," Námo said, implacably. "What did he say?" The Maia's body stiffened, and his head dropped even lower.
"He told me it was my fault, that if I had been better he wouldn't have needed to punish me," he finally whispered, tears in his voice.
"And you believed him," Námo said calmly. Mairon didn't say anything; his acceptance of Námo's statement was clear.
"Then what happened?" Námo finally asked. Mairon took a steadying breath before answering.
"He told me to disincarnate and get out," he said. "I fled to the northern forests. It was just a few days later that Beren and Lúthien found me." He relaxed for the first time, lost in memories of happier days. "They cared for me, even though they had every right to just walk away. We became friends, as odd as that was…" his voice trailed off.
"Lúthien had me promise that if I ever had a chance to leave Morgoth's service, I would take it," he continued. "So, when the war was over, I surrendered…It was the only thing I could do to even partially repay them."
Námo didn't say anything further, just held the Maia as his breathing and heart rate slowed and steadied. Mairon was clearly exhausted from the rather trying ordeal he had gone through, and was slowly beginning to fall asleep. Námo briefly debated simply letting Mairon fall asleep before moving him, but decided against it, and carefully passed the now limp Maia back to Nienna, where he lay blinking slowly and heavily. Námo rose, and returned to his throne, exactly opposite from Manwë.
"Well," Námo silently said to the rest of the Valar, communicating via thought, "I suppose we are all in agreement that throwing him to the Void is out of the question."
"Yes," Manwë agreed. "That would be extremely cruel of us, especially knowing what he would suffer should we do so."
"If we are not going to throw him to the Void, what are we going to do with him?" Nessa asked silently. "Do we try to redeem him? After all he has done, all the crimes he has committed, is he even capable of redemption anymore?"
"You are forgetting something rather important," Námo pointed out. "He is here because of a past kindness on the part of Beren and Lúthien. He did something that he did not want to do, that he perceived–rightly–would only cause him more pain, because it was the only way he had to repay them. He is obviously still capable of love and loyalty."
"If we show him mercy, what of justice?" Oromë asked. "What about the crimes he committed, against us, against the Children?"
"And what of the crimes committed against him?" Námo replied. "No, in this case, justice cannot be satisfied, no matter what we do."
"So we show mercy," Manwë said, his mental voice firm.
"He's going to need extremely gentle handling," Nienna spoke up from where she knelt. "He's incredibly fragile at the moment. After all, he believes that what happened to him was his fault. Convincing him otherwise is going to be a long and difficult task."
"Then it would probably be best handled by the three of you," Manwë said, indicating Nienna, Námo, and Irmo. The siblings glanced between one another, before Námo responded.
"We will do it," he said. Manwë nodded, and the Valar began to disperse, slipping away to the many other tasks that needed to be accomplished due to the end of the war. Quickly, only Námo, Irmo, and Nienna were left.
Námo and Irmo stood and walked over to where Nienna was holding Mairon. They knelt down, and Námo reached out to brush back Mairon's black hair. Glazed golden eyes flickered open, and slight frown of confusion crossed his face when he realized that most of the Valar had gone. But exhaustion quickly won out over curiosity, and his eyes closed again.
"It is probably best if he comes with me," Nienna said. "Both of you have some in your demesnes who would react badly if we brought Mairon there." Námo and Irmo nodded, recognizing the truth in her words. Námo glance at Irmo.
"If you need to, go ahead and go back to Lórien," he said. "I know you're extremely busy at the moment."
"So are you," Irmo pointed out. Námo, however, shook his head.
"Most of those who came to me in the war have settled down now. Most of them are too exhausted and confused to cause any trouble yet. My Maiar have everything well under control," Námo assured his brother. Irmo nodded.
"My charges are living, and so not nearly as compliant," he pointed out dryly. "If you're sure…"
"Go on, little brother," Námo said with a smile. Irmo nodded and left. Námo turned to Nienna.
"Let me take him, sister," he said, scooping up the nearly asleep Maia in her arms. Nienna, freed from Mairon's weight, stood up, and they quickly thought themselves to the West, to Nienna's demesne. Nienna quickly led the way to an unoccupied chamber that Mairon could use. There was a wide window that faced the ocean. Námo gently settled Mairon on the bed, and slipped off the soft shoes he had been wearing. The Maia opened tired eyes that settled on Námo's face.
"I'm going to remove your leggings," Námo told him. "I want to see the damage to your legs."
Mairon just nodded, closing his eyes again, and Námo quickly slipped the leggings off. The Maia's legs weren't quite as badly scarred as his torso, all except the right thigh, which had clearly been snapped as Mairon had said. Having determined that everything had been correctly cared for, and that none of Mairon's previous injuries hampered him in any way, Námo carefully rolled the Maia under the thick covers.
"Sleep well," he murmured softly, before following Nienna out of the room to discuss how they could help the broken Maia that was unexpectedly in their care.