Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognisable characters in this story, and make no money from them. This story is purely a work of fanfiction, and written for fun. All rights belong to the Tolkien Estate.
Due to the enthusiastic response I got for Chapter 1, I have decided not to wait for the weekend to post this part. Thank you for the reviews everyone, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.
Enjoy!
WARNING: The events in this chapter include heavily themes of torture and abuse. While not graphic, if you are easily triggered, please be careful. Evil Melkor is evil. You'll understand what I mean by the end. *conspiring smirk*
Chapter 2
Manwë turned his full attention back to Sauron. During the time they'd been talking, he'd seemed to shrink in on himself. His hands hadn't left his lap; but he was clutching his fingers together so tightly, his knuckles were white. His head had dropped so he was staring at the ground once more. His matted and snarled copper hair covered the multiple signs of trauma and abuse the King had noticed before, when he'd raised his head – including what looked suspiciously like a fading handprint on one cheek, and bruising around his eyes.
For the first time, Manwë also noticed how small in stature and presence he was. Though he was still a good head taller than the tallest among the Firstborn, compared to the Valar (and most of the other Maiar), he seemed barely larger than a child in that moment.
Manwë shook that fanciful thought away with surprising difficulty, before speaking.
"Sauron. While we are inclined to be merciful if your repentance is genuine, we all feel you are hiding something from us. We need to ensure, if we do offer you mercy, our decision will not be returned with ill. Thus, to determine your fate, we will examine your memories. Depending on what we find…"
He got no further. The Maia's head jerked up at his words. Horror filled his face, and every single muscle in his body tensed.
"No, you can't do that!" He shook his head, frantic. "I refuse to give you permission! You can throw me to the Void, or-or lock me up in Mandos for eternity if you wish! Just please, don't do this!"
This violent and panicked reaction from the up-until-now passive Maia, shocked every single Valar. Manwë felt his earlier suspicions solidifying. Sauron was hiding something from them about his past – something major.
Something they needed to know about, if they were to have a hope of redeeming him.
Manwë spoke in a gentle tone to the now trembling Maia. Sauron was looking at him with wide, terrified golden eyes, his gaze pleading for them to not do this. It was the first real emotion he'd shown since all this had started, Manwë realised with a pang. It was like this Maia was incapable of feeling anything, apart from fear and despair.
"I am afraid you do not have a choice in this matter. We need to ensure whatever we do does not endanger the world again. We will not alter anything we find, child, nor will we touch your inner self. We will just look at your memories. Nothing more, nothing less. It will not hurt; you should barely feel us. Open your mind, child; let us help you."
With those words, Manwë gently, yet firmly, reached out towards Sauron's mind. Despite his reassurance, he was not surprised to encounter strong resistance. Yet, for all the desperation in the Maia's mental shields, they were nowhere near as strong as they should have been. Sauron's shields started cracking at the gentle yet persistent touch, and shattered to pieces the moment Manwë applied firm pressure.
As soon as Manwë's presence entered his mind, Sauron froze, his entire body constricting. His eyes glazed over, his gaze becoming unfocused and dimmed. Then, he screamed – a high shrill note of pure agony.
The Maia fell to the ground, starting to convulse, as an avalanche of memories that had been hiding just behind his shields hit the Valar.
There was so much blood everywhere. Mairon realised with a floating detachment that it was all his. Melkor had not taken kindly to his attempted desertion, and had personally decided to teach him a lesson.
"Finally, you are back with us."
Mairon blearily looked up to see Melkor – to see his Master – standing over him. He wore an expression of disgust and distain, as if the broken being hanging limply from the chains was less than the dirt he walked on.
Melkor tilted his head. "I actually thought for a while there you had died on me. Which would have been an impressive feat, considering the bindings keeping your mind and body trapped here. It would have been a great shame, though, had you died. We haven't even started the main event. Now that you are awake, the real fun can begin."
Mairon had no time to prepare, before his master's presence forcefully entered his mind. He screamed as the full force of Melkor's malicious will slammed into the delicate mental shields that protected his thoughts. His own will and strength was already weakened from the severe physical torture his fana had been put through in the last few days, or was it weeks? He'd lost track of time since being brought down here.
Though his mind desperately tried to fight the Vala off, his weak attempts were merely flicked aside. The full force of Melkor's anger and hatred tore into his mind without a pause, cutting through his memories as if with a knife. Mairon screamed in pain as Melkor went through them ruthlessly. He tore open doors, and ripped open cabinets, to get at everything; no part of Mairon's mind was spared this treatment. Melkor ripped apart memory after memory, destroying those he found distasteful.
Finally, after an eternity, Melkor finished going through the memories, and reached out for the core of Mairon's being. The core created from the flame imperishable before Eä existed. The flame given to him by Eru himself. It made him who he was; it was the essence of his entire existence.
Without it, the Maia was nothing. But, Melkor did not intend to destroy it.
He had other plans.
With fingers that burned like ice – freezing the fire in Mairon's core – the fallen Vala gleefully grabbed hold of the prize he'd wanted all along.
The Maia's very soul.
Mairon could do nothing but scream, mentally and physically, in agony. Slowly, but surely, his very essence was torn apart bit by bit, and remade into the beast his Master had always wished for.
The Valar drew back in horror when the memory ended. Tears streamed down Nienna's face, and even Námo looked ill. But, they were given no respite. The memories of excruciating pain continued to wash over them, despite the fact Manwë had since withdrawn from Sauron's mind. It seemed, without the mental shields to keep things at bay, the Maia had no control over his own mind.
Before the Valar could do anything about it, another sharp memory rose unbidden from the tempest. This one was even more painful and bitter then the first.
He awoke to blackness. There was nothing before him – nothing around him. Just emptiness.
Mairon felt the terror well up in him. Melkor had threatened to blind him, after all. Had he finally done it?
But he couldn't have – wouldn't have.
Would he?
Melkor had no purpose for useless slaves. And he would be useless to the Vala if he couldn't see. Even more useless then he was already…
As his mind focussed, Mairon desperately tried using his power to bring a little light into the blackness. Due to his exhaustion, the best he managed was a few sparks. But, those few sparks were enough to calm him.
He was not blinded. Melkor had not stolen that from him. He was just in a dark cell, deep within Utumno, no doubt. He might not like the fathomless darkness, but it was better than being permanently maimed.
As his self-awareness returned, Mairon realised his once broken fana had been mostly healed from the physical wounds Melkor had inflicted, when learning of the Maia's intentions to desert him. The Dark Lord must have healed the damage to his fana after he'd blacked out from the psychic assault. Though every part of his body hurt like hell, the only evidence of his Master's torture was rough scabs and jagged scars that now littered his entire form. Melkor had healed him just enough to be functional, and ensure there was no lasting damage. Though much of the pain was still there, it was still a small mercy. Especially considering what else the fallen Vala had done to him.
Mairon swallowed to try and dispel some of the dryness in his still raw throat, which had not been healed. After ascertaining his fana would be fine once it finished healing, Mairon took a shuddering breath as he turned to his mind. Time to attempt to put his shattered thoughts into some semblance of order.
It was hard. His soul was bruised and violated; and he felt filthy to his very core. His entire being ached, and he felt nothing but despair. But, he pushed on. Regardless of the fact he wanted to curl up in a ball, and sink back into oblivion. He had to know the full extent of what Melkor had done to him.
What he'd destroyed.
Reaching out with slow hesitation, afraid of what he would find, the Maia touched his own mind. Instantly, his head dropped to his knees, as he grasped his hair in anguish. A soft sob escaped at the realisation most of the happy memories he had were gone, darkness and hatred having replaced them. Delving deeper, the Maia shuddered as he encountered his previously shining core. It was now unrecognisable, almost completely covered with tangled black cords that reeked of malic and evil.
The cords smothered the little bit of happiness and joy he'd managed to hold onto for so long. Despite life's best attempts to take them away, they had always been there. They had been his safe haven – his one place of peace and safety in the tempest that had been his life for as long as he could remember. And now, they were gone.
Mairon gingerly poked at the binding, sorrow overwhelming him. A sudden, agonising flare of pain greeted the action. Mairon gasped. Curling up in a tight ball, he worked on breathing through it, tears coursing down his grimy cheeks. He was filthy all over, the Maia realised dimly, covered in dried blood, dirt and general grime. A side effect of not having bathed in weeks.
The pain eventually died down to a dull ache, allowing Mairon to shakily exhale, and sit up. The Maia hugged his knees in close to his chest, and was very careful in explored the rest of his mind. He made sure not to go anywhere near his bound core again; and instead turned to the memories he'd been left with.
Memories of his skills, and all his technical knowledge, were still there, and even in order. That made sense; Melkor would want to keep those intact. They were the reason the Dark Vala had wanted him in the first place – for the talent his hands possessed, and the knowledge in his mind. To his surprise, he could also remember the very beginnings of Arda. When the Ainur had sang Eä into existence.
He even found a happy memory here and there. Like the time he'd tricked Eönwë and Olórin into washing their hair with honey and eggs (and neglected to tell them to rinse it out in cold water. They had not been happy). And the picnic he'd had with Ilmarë, Eönwë, Olórin and Arien in Almaren, before the lamps had been made.
Mairon realised he also remembered the moment his brother told him he hated him, and walked off. A single tear, bigger than all the others, escaped and trickled down his cheek at the memory. That had been just before he'd left to join Melkor. It was also the last time he'd seen Olórin. The loss of his big brother through a silly mistake he'd made, was still one of the most painful memories he had. Even more painful than those of his sister's cool indifference towards him. It made perfect sense Melkor would want him to keep it. It was yet another reminder of his failure and uselessness.
While all the memories he regretted appeared intact, the memories he remembered fondly were few. The empty spaces in his mind where they had once been, were now filled with hatred and bitterness. Mairon gave a weary sigh, realising all his negative memories were indeed fully intact. Melkor had only targeted those that made him happy. Those memories and desires that made him different to the fallen Vala. The memories and feelings that made him, him. Without them, Mairon did not know who he was. Though, he was determined not to become what Melkor wanted.
A heartless monster. Like the fallen Vala was.
Oh, how he wished he had never left Aulë's service! Or better yet, that he had stayed in the Timeless Halls. Sure, his life under Aulë might have been lonely and difficult, with the Smith ignoring him unless he messed up, and most of the other Maiar not liking him. But, no one had ever hurt him like this while he'd been there. Aulë would never have stopped him if he'd tried to leave his service. In fact, he had not stopped him.
Though Mairon had left in secret, too scared of the Smith to tell him what he was doing. The fact no one had attempted to come after him, or tried to get him back, stung more than he cared to admit. Even though he had no idea why they would want to. It had always been made clear to him he was nothing to any of them; so, why would they bother trying to get him back?
They were probably glad to see the last of him. Had celebrated his departure even. Mairon swallowed down the nausea that thought caused, swiftly turning his mind to other matters.
He wished he'd been too scared of Melkor to even try leaving his service. He was certainly too scared of him now to try it again. Not that he would ever be able to escape anymore. With so much of Melkor's malice and rage grafted onto his soul, he was doomed to obey the Vala he hated and feared forever. Melkor owned his very will. Even if he left, the dark bindings on his mind and soul would ensure he was unable to resist coming back if his Master called for him.
He was now a slave to the Vala. No matter what happened, he would never be free again. He was bound to do Melkor's will until the day he perished. Or the day the world was unmade.
Either way, he was doomed.
With that thought, the last bit of happiness and hope Mairon had hang onto for so long, shattered.
The fourteen Valar were silent as the Maia's tortured memories continued to wash over them. Most wore shocked and/or horrified expressions at what they were finding out. But several, namely Tulkas and Aulë, were outraged at Melkor's cruel violation of the Maia's delicate mind and soul. Námo had erased the expression of horror from his face after the first memory. His power once again masked his eyes; betraying nothing of his thoughts or feelings. Nienna was wailing like her heart would break. Irmo and Estë had moved their thrones closer together at some point. They were clutching each other, staring at the Maia in silent horror. Even Manwë was too stunned to fully process what he was seeing.
He found he could not even begin to comprehend the sheer brutality his own brother had subjected Mairon to. As the Valar sat there in stunned and horrified silence, another memory pushed itself to the fore…
"You will lose. The entire host of the Ainur have come to stand against you. You are even crazier than I thought, if you still think you can win this."
Sauron kept his head bowed. His eyes were fixed on the floor in front of his knees as he said those words. Words that could condemn him to death or torture. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground. But, he no longer cared. If Morgoth killed him, then this nightmare would finally end. And, if the Dark Lord decided torture was the way to go…
…as he had just pointed out, an army of Valar was on these shores. All were intent on seeing the Dark Lord permanently destroyed. And, unlike last time, they would not leave any stone unturned.
Melkor would be defeated, and Sauron would be found… sooner or later. While there might not be much of him left by then, at least he knew the torture would have an eventual end. But, to his intense surprise and extreme unease, the Dark Lord merely laughed at his words.
"I know, my little wolf. I know I will lose this, but I'm not going without a fight. I always knew this day would come; but look at all I've achieved in the meantime! Oh, the Valar might win this final battle. But I – I won the war a long time ago!"
The Maia said nothing in response. There was nothing to say. Morgoth suddenly broke off laughing, regarding his lieutenant with a shrewd look.
"I'm not the only one who will lose in this. If they ever got hold of you, my little wolf, you would realise how merciful I actually am."
Sauron strove to repress a shudder as he heard his Master rise from his throne, and walk down the steps towards him. Close was never good.
Close meant pain. Close meant failure.
"You think what I did was bad," Morgoth continued, "how would you like fourteen of them in your head? Just think of what they could do to you! And with all the evil you've done…"
Sauron kept his eyes trained to the floor, even as Melkor's boots stopped in his line of vision. His Master's soft whisper floated down to him, the sweet tones belying the venom in the words. "Well, it wouldn't take them long to throw you into the Void. They would cast you there without a second thought, a bodiless spirit to be tortured for eternity, once they see everything!"
Sauron shuddered in revulsion. They both knew he feared being a bodiless spirit in the Void above almost anything else. Even through the terror the thought caused, he kept his expression carefully blank, and his gaze fixed on the floor. Seeing his reaction, the fallen Vala chuckled.
"My, I have trained you well. For a while there, I wondered if I had made a mistake in taking you. You did have some darker tendencies, but the goodness in you was often blinding in how obvious it was. But, then I realised even your goodness could be useful to me. After all, one only fully understands what they've lost, when they once had it."
His steps moved around behind Sauron, causing the Maia to tense even further. He hated not being able to see what his Master was doing – hated not having at least a second of warning before the attacks. But, he knew the pain would be worse if he dared to move. And so, he remained kneeling; braced for an attack he knew would come, but had no way of predicting when.
"I wanted an excuse to hurt you for a long time, my little wolf; to break you down and rebuild you into something stronger and better and more useful for my purposes. But you were so annoyingly good at your job for so long. I did not want to do anything that could have a negative impact on your usefulness. Then, just when I was starting to wonder what I was going to do, you tried to betray me. Your attempted desertion gave me the perfect excuse to do what I'd been craving to do for so long: destroy you."
"Do you know, when I took your happy memories, I almost felt pity for you? Or what I imagine pity must feel like? It seemed almost a shame to remodel you; your mind was already an incredible thing to behold. But I made it even better, even darker, smothering that pesky light and goodness that was your only flaw. It was a pity I could not destroy them completely; but only Eru himself has that kind of power. Still, I was able to corrupt you, and bury all that goodness so deep, I doubt anyone but Eru will ever be able to reach it. If nothing else, I've ensured that, no matter what happens to me, you will never be free from my influence."
Sauron shuddered as the Vala returned to his forefront, cupping his jaw with a deceptively gentle hand. A hand the Maia knew was anything but gentle. However, while his mind knew this, the momentary comfort had him subconsciously leaning into the touch, seeking more. But the fallen Vala was a master at deception. Seconds later, a burning pain on his jaw caused Sauron to cry out, as he cowered away from it.
His hand flew to his cheek, gingerly brushing along the blister that was already beginning to form. Morgoth's palm glowered white with ice, as he threw his head to the roof, and laughed manically. The sound echoed through the vast caverns of his throne room, until it seemed his voice was coming from everywhere all at once.
"You don't deserve kindness, Little Wolf. Nor pity or mercy. You have done too much. No. You are mine, and always shall be. Never forget that."
I warned you Melkor was evil. That guy is bi-polar psychopath.
Notes: It is my headcannon here that Mairon, being a creature of fire and earth, is pretty much burn-proof. Fire does not bother him. However, ice is the exact opposite. It causes him great pain, and even burns if it is held to his skin for too long. I wonder how many times Melkor took advantage of that...?
Olórin and Mairon being brothers is an idea credited to AzureSkye23.
The next chapter is pretty much ready to go, and feedback will speed up the posting process...*hint, hint*
