Chapter 18
Erenquaro grunted softly as he heaved a sack of raw gemstones out of his cart and carried it towards the storehouse adjacent to the Forges, where the jewelers would cut the gems for the use of Aulë's master smiths and their apprentices. His muscles strained, taut and thick beneath his skin, as he hoisted the sack to his broad shoulder and balanced it there. The wholesome, hard work and the swell of his muscles sent a pleasant ripple through his fëa, like fingers strumming across the strings of a harp, and the sound of it reverberated through his spirit. The chords swelled in his breast, vibrating upwards and coming out in a soft tune that he sang to himself under his breath as he worked. The notes were simple and repetitive, a Song that made his chest swell and his blood flow and that wove into the fibers of the sack on his shoulder, strengthening each thread against the press of the gems inside.
It was a simple job, but it was the job that made him feel like he belonged. It was days like this, when he could feel the warm tingle of the sun glowing off his browned skin, and the breeze tugging at his silver hair, and the solid earth crunching beneath his boots, that he felt his heart and spirit swelling with happiness in his decision to come down to this world and become a physical part of it. He'd been hesitant at first, unsure if he could contribute anything to this world of flesh and blood and stone that Eru had fashioned, and so he had lingered long in the Timeless Halls, happy and content enough there with those few of his brethren who remained.
But knowledge had come to the Timeless Halls, an ill feeling in the spirit and tidings of the destruction of the Lamps and a rising evil, and many of Erenquaro's companions had departed to take on garments of flesh and begin to play a part in the story of the world. Yet still Erenquaro had lingered behind. He was a simple soul, and he knew it. Many Maiar with far greater power and talent had already descended into Eä, warriors like golden-haired Eönwë, weavers of puissant song like Ilmarë, bearers of great power like fiery Arien, and cunning craftsmen like Erenquaro's own brother. If they could not defeat the growing darkness as the Spring faltered, what use would a young Maia such as himself be? He was no warrior, no powerful song-weaver, no sage, not even a particularly talented craftsman.
Yet he found that he was no longer content as a spirit in the Timeless Halls; something deep within him now yearned to join his brethren, even if he was not entirely sure what he would do in a strange, new world. But their pain and distress touched his simple heart like a hot coal against his skin and would not be ignored.
"You will know when it is your time, if your time ever indeed comes at all," Aulë had told his young spirit on the day the Vala of Earth had departed to take Eru's offer to build the world they had seen in the Vision. "You will feel it in the core of your fëa, like a song, like a call from across the Void. Maybe that song will never stir within you, Erenquaro, but do not fear that such a thing would make you any less my Maia, or that your value would diminish because of it. But if the Song ever rises in you, it means you have a part to play within Eä in Iluvatar's great Theme. Do not attempt to waken the Song before its time, but if and when it does awaken, I shall be glad to see you again."
And indeed, Erenquaro had found a warm welcome amongst the Maiar of Aulë when he finally joined them, and for the most part they were patient with him as he adjusted to the strangeness of flesh to which they all had long since grown accustomed. Yet even harder was the adjustment of finding a place where he could be useful, where it would feel like he mattered, when all those around him had settled into their own distinctive roles a thousand years ago. There were times when he felt like an extra spoke on a cart wheel that was already fully built, a thread for a sack that was already woven and complete. What was there to do that someone else was not already doing, and with more skill?
The destruction of the two Lamps was the most immediate concern of Aulë's folk. The great ruin of Illuin and Ormal covered leagues, and Erenquaro had joined many of his brethren in slowly and methodically bearing away the rubble so that other Maiar of Aulë and Yavanna could tend to the gashed earth and crushed trees beneath and raise up new hills and mountains from the displaced stone.
And so, when the Valar brought them to Valinor, and peace had come to the Ainur for a time, Erenquaro had simply continued to do what he had always done, bearing and lifting and carrying and carting, and it was a life that made the Song stir within him.
Grunting slightly, he shifted the heavy sack upon his shoulder, getting a better grip on it, then deposited it onto the pile of sacks inside the storehouse. Smoke rose from the great chimneys of the Forges adjacent, and Erenquaro paused for a moment to rub the back of his neck and gaze at the magnificent structure that was the heart of Aulë's Halls.
There were times when he was not sure if he should be as content with his life as he thought he was.
"The Forge is the beating heart of our Lord Aulë's domain," his brother would often say to him. "Leave the tasks of carting gems and stone to other Maiar, or Elves, who are better suited to such things. It is hardly fitting that the brother of Aulë's own head smith should still be running errands and carrying sacks from dawn to dusk like some mortal milkmaid. An entire Age and more has passed since you entered Eä; by now, you should have procured a proper place in the Forges, as an apprentice at the very least."
"I…I don't know, I like this work," Erenquaro would answer.
"Oh Erenquaro, little brother." His brother would put an arm about his shoulders, smiling that little smile that made his dark eyes glitter and his white teeth glint. "That is because you know of no other life but this one. What do you think would have become of me if I had been content to sit in the corner amongst the soot? Do you think I would have become Lord Aulë's master smith, making gems and trinkets of power for the High King and Queen themselves? There is not a Vala in Aman who doesn't wear at least one jewel that I shaped here in these very Forges. We are Maiar of Aulë, Erenquaro, and it does not become you as my brother to still lack a place in the Forges after all this time."
"My work is Lord Aulë's work too," Erenquaro attempted to explain, but he did not have his brother's eloquent tongue. "It…feels like the Song to me."
His brother's smile remained fixed in place, but his eyes had an edge of obsidian. "Ah, very poetic. One would almost think you a Maia of Irmo or Vána with such flowery speech on your tongue, Erenquaro. You know that I have been here in Eä much longer than you. And you have never been the most quick of thought. Not that there is any fault in Eru's design of course, but we must recognize where our weaknesses lie and be grateful for those who counter-balance our shortcomings, as I do for you. You know that I am better versed in the ways of the world, and I have always had further sight and more fitting words for the occasion than you."
"Well, that is true," Erenquaro conceded, though sometimes he wished his brother was not nearly so wise and clever as he was.
Curumo squeezed his shoulder a little tighter than necessary. "Of course, we all are doing Lord Aulë's work, both you and me, but it is hardly all the same. For some of us, our work is the heart and mind of Lord Aulë's domain; for others, their labor is more akin to that of one's little toe. And given the choice, who in their proper wits would choose to be a toe?"
He gave a little laugh at the absurdity of his own question, then patted Erenquaro's shoulder. "Why don't I speak to Lord Aulë on your behalf about finding you a proper employment of your time and strength? There are plenty of others who can haul about carts, but those of our spirit are rare. Once you are crafting jewels for a High Queen, then you will be able to speak of your Song, my brother."
Erenquaro sighed, dropping his hand from the back of his neck, and trudged back towards his cart. Something about Curumo's explanation didn't seem quite right, but Erenquaro was not nearly as wise as his brother, nor as powerful, nor as clever at weaving words. Every time he tried to talk to Curumo, tried to explain the things he felt (how he loved the air and the breeze and the sun and the strain of his muscles, how the thought of spending his days in the Forges amongst the smoke and heat choked the very notes of the Song in his soul), he inevitably ended up feeling abashed and ignorant, Curumo's eloquent speech dancing rings around him. Curumo was Lord Aulë's master smith after all, and he had been in Eä for far longer than Erenquaro. Surely, he knew better.
He reached his cart and heaved another sack over his shoulder. His brother was not nearly as good at listening as he was at speaking, but Erenquaro rarely felt that he had anything good to say anyway, so perhaps that was just as well. In any case, he could not truly complain. He would not be here at all if not for Curumo.
It was nearing the end of the afternoon, the Sun Chariot hot and high over Valinor. It was about this time that Sauron's escort would be making his or her way up to the quarry. Erenquaro glanced at the mountain spur across the fields to the east and curiously found himself wondering how the strange dark Maia was faring.
Sauron puzzled him, in a similar way that Curumo puzzled him sometimes. There was something behind his eyes that was always busy and watchful, like Curumo, as if he was constantly in the middle of a game of Aranosarn and looking for a piece that would move him one step closer to the king. Yet there was something else that clung about him too, that shrouded his fëa, that Erenquaro had never quite encountered before and could not understand, but it stirred something like a little flutter in his heart. Other people were afraid of it, he sensed, this shroud, but to him it did not seem like something to fear. The closest he had ever come to feeling like this before was long, long ago, and much like then he was unsure how to react to it, though simply ignoring it was an option that seemed somehow just as wrong as fearing and shunning it.
In truth, he was still bewildered over why Lord Aulë had come to him at all, those two weeks ago when his Lord had told him that the Valar wished to speak to him at the Máhanaxar.
"I imagine you all are wondering why we have summoned you here." Námo's black eyes flickered over the small group of Maiar gathered in the Ring in front of him. Manwë, Varda, Nienna, and Aulë watched the proceedings silently from their thrones behind the Doomsman's dais. Erenquaro chanced a curious peek around him at the other Maiar. They were an eclectic mix, two other Aulëan Maiar like himself, one a Maia of Yavanna, and a sky Maia and a soul Maia whom he did not recognize but assumed must serve Manwë or Varda and Námo or Nienna respectively. Varying degrees of curiosity and bewilderment showed on each of their faces as they all gazed up expectantly at Námo. The only one who looked neither inquisitive nor puzzled was the Yavannan Maia – Erenquaro was fairly sure she was named Wilwarien – but instead her face bore a sad, stoic look that hinted that she already had some guess as to the reason for their unexpected summons.
"I am sure word has made its way around to all of you that Sauron, who was Morgoth's Black Captain, has surrendered and was brought here yesterday to be tried for his deeds."
Subdued murmurs of intrigue made their way through the small knot of Maiar at the mention of the dark Maia. Erenquaro had indeed heard the news, though it hadn't been a source of as much interest to him as it had to his brethren who had known the Maia from before his betrayal. The word was that Sauron had arrived at Aulë's Halls late last night, but Erenquaro had yet to glimpse the newcomer.
"Sauron has been assigned to labor at the quarry Corimendturë for the time being, as recompense for some measure of the destruction and desolation wrought by himself and his master in Beleriand and the lands beyond," Námo continued. "He is not, however, to leave the borders of Aulë and Yavanna's domain without an attendant at all times. As such, he must be escorted to Corimendturë and back each day."
There were slow nods from the gathered Maiar, six pairs of eyes locked on the Vala.
Námo made a short, sweeping gesture towards the other Valar. "We have discussed the matter at great length and yours were the names that came forth for this task. Let it be clear, we do not command you in this; the decision about whether to accept this assignment, or not, lies solely with each and every one of you."
Quiet fell over the Ring as Námo paused to allow the information to settle. After a minute, he resumed, his heavy voice weighted in the air like something palpable. "The task is straightforward enough, but it may prove more difficult than it first appears, hence why it is paramount that you accept the assignment of your own will. Sauron will not begin for another week's time, and in the interim you may speak to any of us with concerns or questions, should they arise. Do any of you wish to ask anything of us now?"
There was shifting amongst the Maiar. One of the Aulëan Maiar, Namondo, spoke up. "Why have you chosen us? Wouldn't this task be better suited to those of greater power?"
It was clear that some thought passed between the Doomsman and the High King, though all Erenquaro felt was a feather ripple of power through the air about them. Manwë stepped forward to take Námo's place on the dais. Erenquaro gazed up into the High King's face, deeply curious as to what he would say, for Namondo had simply voiced the question in his own heart.
Manwë looked at each of them in turn, his eyes soft. "It is true that none of you rank among the greatest of our Maiar, but do not be deceived into thinking that makes you less powerful. We have deemed that each of you have qualities that will serve in this task better than power. No, it is not a grand employment that we ask of you, not one that shall give you favor among your peers, not one that shall move and shake the earth. But it is a necessary and important task, and one that we sincerely believe each of you is well equipped for. By doing this, you will aid us, and all of Valinor, greatly.
"Should you accept, I warn you that it may very well prove perilous. Sauron's powers are bound, but he is still cunning. Be wary in believing all of what you see, in what he decides to show you. To some of you he may appear pitiable, to others intimidating, to others seductive. We do not doubt that he will try to use each and every one of you for his own devices and purposes, and you will have to remain ever vigilant against his wiles. He may try to gain your pity, or your anger. He will attempt to twist your own words and his and ours. But we believe that Eru has equipped each of you with the qualities necessary to withstand his cunning and do what we ask."
Erenquaro found himself frowning. The High King's answer was…strange. At least, he did not fully understand it, and it did little to lessen his surprise at having been chosen in the first place. What qualities of his could possibly have caught the attention of the Valar?
But Manwë was speaking again, a knowing look on his face as his grey eyes flickered from one Maia to the next. "Sauron himself was among the most powerful of all Maiar when he fell into the darkness. Do not be so quick to measure your ability by your power, for you each are strong in ways that will aid you far more in this matter than your mastery of power and will. Patience. Creativity. Gentleness." The High King's eyes rested on Erenquaro for a moment. "Empathy."
His gaze swept over all of them again, surveying them as a group. "You may speak to your Lord or Lady about these matters if you have further questions, and should you accept, we will be at your disposal, should you need us." His lips twitched. "We hardly plan to throw you to the wolf unaided."
As Erenquaro shuffled out of the Ring with his fellow Maiar, each heading back to his or her various daily tasks, he thought over Manwë's words again. They still baffled him, yet…the thought that the greatest of the Powers, his own lord among them, deemed him capable for this job made him feel strong inside, the same way his arms felt when he hoisted a full sack upon his shoulders. This task that the Valar asked of him, well, it was a simple task after all, and that was what had always suited him the best.
His last load of the day finished, Erenquaro headed back through the outlying courtyards towards the main halls. Perhaps Aiwendil would be around to play a few rounds of Aranosarn before supper. He felt his spirits lift and bounce at the thought and his pace quickened. Aiwendil always had such good thoughts – different thoughts – about the things Erenquaro found himself pondering.
He had just passed the bath house, heading towards the gardens where Aiwendil could most reliably be found, when someone called his name. Pausing his step, he swung his head around in search of who had called him. Something small sank in him just slightly when he saw Curumo emerging from the bath house, a loose white robe tied about him and his hair dark and glossy with water.
"Hello, brother," Erenquaro greeted amiably, fidgeting on his feet.
Curumo beckoned him and began walking, away from the gardens and down the colonnade towards the dormitory halls. With a wistful glance back towards the garden archway, Erenquaro dutifully fell in step beside his brother. "I've been meaning to talk to you, Erenquaro," Curumo said when the younger Maia reached his side. "Myself and some of the other master smiths are going down to Valmar for the afternoon, have some Vanyarin ale, talk for a bit. Why don't you join us, Erenquaro?"
Erenquaro studied the sturdy pillars lining the colonnade as they passed. He never felt entirely comfortable around Curumo's compatriots. All they ever seemed to discuss were their current projects at the forge, what commissions they'd received, and how their apprentices were doing (never well, it seemed). He would much, much rather spend the rest of the afternoon in comfortable companionship down at the Lindonal with Aiwendil, where his slow and plain speech never made him feel out of place.
"Sure," he answered.
Curumo gave him a pleased squeeze on the shoulder. "Excellent! I have been giving some thought to your situation, and I believe it would benefit you greatly to spend more time with the other head smiths. I have told them how I desire to petition Lord Aulë about finding you a place at the Forges, and they all agree that it would be much more fitting for your station as my brother. Speaking to other craftsmen of power on the matters of the Forge might awaken the recalcitrant flame in your own spirit. After all, those with whom we choose to spend our time are those who influence us the most, are they not?"
"Yes, I guess," Erenquaro said.
"That was a rhetorical question, Erenquaro," Curumo said with a silk voice. Erenquaro pushed down mild irritation. When he and Aiwendil asked questions of one another, they were always meant to be answered. With Curumo, he could never quite master all the subtleties of speech and the slippery implications that never seemed particularly necessary nor conducive for one to have a proper conversation. "While we're on the topic though," Curumo continued smoothly, "what is it you guess?"
"What do you mean?"
Curumo gave the smallest hint of a sigh. "In response to my rhetorical question, you responded that you guess. What is it you guess, Erenquaro?"
"Oh," Erenquaro said slowly, feeling confused, "I just meant that you were right."
"About what?"
"That thing you said about who you spend time with."
Curumo's smile turned sharp, and Erenquaro had that small sinking feeling again, like a tiny pebble dropped into a pool. "Well, it delights me to hear you say that, as it concerns an important matter that I feel I must bring up with you, in light of recent events."
Curumo halted and turned to face Erenquaro. There were a hard look in his dark eyes. "As your brother, it concerns me deeply that you are tarnishing your time unnecessarily with a certain Maia whose reputation is not exactly favorable."
Erenquaro frowned. "You mean Sauron?"
This time there was no mistaking the sigh, that sigh that always made Erenquaro feel particularly slow. "Yes, of course I mean Sauron."
Erenquaro shifted his weight. "Well, the Valar asked me to help by escorting him to the quarry. I…I thought I should say yes."
Curumo brushed Erenquaro's comment aside with a brusque wave of his hand. "That was not what I was referring to. Must I spell everything out for you, Erenquaro? The Valar have not asked you to sit at table with Sauron, have they?"
"No," Erenquaro said.
Curumo made another quick, harsh gesture with his hand. "Then there is no reason, within reason, for you to subject yourself to the company of someone with as sordid a reputation and past as Morgoth's former Black Captain! Especially at dinner where everyone is looking, Erenquaro! It pains me to find you associating with that traitor outside of the explicit duties the Valar have given you. How do you think it makes me look? To have my very own brother breaking bread and drinking wine and making light conversation with the most notorious Maia in all of Valinor?"
A quick flash of shame stabbed through Erenquaro. "I…I guess that doesn't make you look very good."
Curumo's expression softened again, and he laid a hand back on Erenquaro's shoulder. "It doesn't do anything for your reputation or status either, my brother. You know that I have always sought to look out for what is best for you, ever since you came to Eä. That is the only reason why I say these things. Your greatest flaw is that you settle for far too little. That is why you end up in the company of individuals like Sauron and that little, bobbing, brown-haired Maia who can't seem to get a word out of his mouth without tripping over it five times."
"Aiwendil?" Erenquaro attempted to supply, but Curumo carried on without a pause, starting to walk again up the stairs into the halls. Erenquaro followed.
"Speaking of which, it hurts me in the depths of my soul to see you frittering away so much of your time with that bird Maia. He's probably the reason you've taken to stuttering."
"I don't stutter," Erenquaro muttered, then wondered the next second why stuttering was even a bad thing. It was just the way Aiwendil talked sometimes, when he got nervous or excited.
"The reason you are so slow and plain of speech then," Curumo said with a slight huff. "In any case, there are many elder and more distinguished Maiar who could be such excellent influences and examples, much more fitting for the brother of Lord Aulë's head smith. You know how greatly it would please me to see you speaking with and learning from some of the greatest craftsmen in Lord Aulë's Halls instead of twittering away with a Maia whose greatest power is getting inside the heads of squirrels. You have so much potential, Erenquaro. It is the Second Age and it is high time you started using it. The more you act like you are nothing, the more true it becomes. And I don't want to see that happen to you, little brother."
Despite his broad shoulders and significant height, Erenquaro felt like a small figure dodging awkwardly in Curumo's shadow.
Curumo paused in the anteroom, turning to face Erenquaro once again. "And I truly do not wish to shatter any sense of purpose you may have derived from the task the Valar have given you, but I would not wish for you to remain ignorant of the truth. I hope you realize that the only reason the Valar chose you to escort Sauron is because you were one of the ones they could spare. It is not as if they could snatch one of the head smiths away from the forge, so they chose those, like you, whose tasks were expendable and who did not have reputations to be damaged. I say this to open your eyes to how much more you could be grasping for, Erenquaro. Obey the Valar, yes, but you could be doing so much more than babysitting an ungrateful traitor and hauling sacks of rocks."
Curumo gave a sudden sharp laugh. "Why, come to think of it, your everyday work is hardly better than the assignment that Sauron himself has been given as a punishment."
He started up the stairs towards his private chamber, calling back over his shoulder. "I will meet you at the gates in half an hour to head to Valmar. And please do make sure to give some thought to what I've said."
Erenquaro plodded back out into the sunlight, but the little sunk pebble inside remained. He had a feeling he would not have a hard time "giving some thought" to his brother's words.
~o~o~o~
The Spring had waned, and Erenquaro was slowly growing accustomed to the flesh that now contained his fëa. There was much that was new, so much more than he would have guessed from the little he had glimpsed in the Vision, yet sadness had woven itself into the very fibers of the world as Darkness rose up again and threatened war upon the Valar and the Maiar who served them.
Erenquaro himself had not yet encountered any of the Powers of the Dark Vala, but the evidence of Melkor's destructive might was strewn across the lands in the ruin of the Lamps. He had not seen Lord Aulë's workmanship in their full glory and could not therefore fully measure the loss, but he could sense the sorrow that twisted its way through the fëar of his brethren and his lord. His heart would flutter whenever his own spirit brushed up against one of his companions' and he would feel the heavy weight of their bereavement, as heavy as the cartloads of rubble that he pulled away from the ruins. Yet, for all the fluttering of his heart, he never could seem to find words to comfort his fellow Maiar. Words never came easily to him, and he was hardly the wisest of the Maiar; what wisdom could he possibly have to offer to those who had seen so much more than he had?
So he lifted and carted and pulled, and left such things to those who understood better.
But the Song had been quiet in his breast.
His cart clattered along behind him, clicking and clacking against the earth, full of his Lord's shattered work, some of Ormal's shards still humming faintly with stone-wrought power and glowing like dying embers from the residual skeins of Varda's light. Lord Aulë had determined to raise up a range of mountains to the east from the rubble, and it was Erenquaro's task to bring the cartloads of stone to the allotted place, where other more powerful Maiar would weave the stone back together and raise it up into the crags and spires of the mountains that Lord Aulë envisioned.
Everyone was wary, never sure when and where Melkor or his servants might strike to tear down and destroy what the Valar sought to slowly rebuild. It was a time of earthquakes and fire, drowning water and ice, sudden mists and treacherous ground. Like all his brethren, Erenquaro had learned how to stretch out his consciousness, roots of his spirit like feeling whiskers, to keep ever aware of what, and who, was around him at all times.
So it happened that he felt a presence on the edge of his thoughts.
He paused immediately, then slowly set down his cart, puzzled by the feeling of the nearby fëa. There was something strange, something amiss, about it that he had not felt before. His heart fluttered. It was a heavy feeling, akin to the sorrow he sensed in his fellow Maiar at times, but it covered this spirit like a weighted cloak, like a dark shroud even that hid parts of the other Maia's fëa from him. Perplexed, Erenquaro left his cart and moved through the sparse trees towards the presence.
It was not long before he heard the soft sound of crying. At the time, he had not known what it was, but as he drew near, he saw a Maia kneeling in the grass in front of him, bent over as if in pain, rocking slowly back and forth and making that small, sad, whimpering noise that sent a stab of pain through Erenquaro's heart. The invisible cloak that covered the strange Maia grew thicker and heavier as Erenquaro approached.
"Hello?" Erenquaro attempted cautiously.
The other Maia looked up and hiccupped. His hazel eyes were reddened, and tears glistened on his round cheeks. He was cradling something tenderly in his arms, holding it close and tight to his breast. "She's…she's...her fëa…it's gone," the Maia blurted out and new tears gushed down his cheeks.
Not totally understanding what the Maia was talking about, Erenquaro looked down and caught a glimpse of brown, spotted fur. He had heard of things like this before, of creatures whose fëar were torn from their bodies and left lifeless, but he had never seen it for himself before. From the shock and pain radiating from the other Maia, Erenquaro guessed that he hadn't either. The Maia sniffled and adjusted his grip on the creature, and Erenquaro saw the limp form of a small rabbit.
"I…I think she ate some leaves from one of the bad plants," the other Maia went on. He rubbed his nose on his sleeve then gestured at a small pile of unrooted plants with dark purple flowers and berries. "I've been trying to pull them up wherever I find them, but they keep growing back too quickly ever since the end of the Spring." He went back to rocking, tears returning. "I was too…too late to help her, and n…now her fëa's gone."
"I'm sorry," Erenquaro said, because he did not know what else to say and because he was.
The other Maia hiccupped again.
Erenquaro wasn't quite sure where the impulse came from, but he sat down next to the crying Maia, sensing as he did so that fellow spirit was not much older than himself. A heavy weight grew in his chest, as if the leaden cloak that covered the other Maia now rested partly over his own spirit. It pressed hard against him, digging sharply into his fëa, but Erenquaro did not let it deter him. Wordlessly, he wrapped his arms around the smaller Maia's shoulders.
He sat in silence while the Maia cried and hiccupped, and he felt the shroud around the Maia's spirit slowly lighten. The flutter in his heart blossomed into a melody that made its way up his throat. He squeezed the Maia tightly and hummed the Song that reverberated through him, and the power of the shroud about the Maia's fëa broke fully and dissipated like mist. Finally, the Maia wiped his eyes and sniffled again.
"Thanks," he whispered at last.
"You're welcome," Erenquaro answered simply, still feeling confused over what had just happened.
The other Maia looked at him and gave him a little, sheepish smile. He had a pleasant round face and soft eyes. "I serve Lady Yavanna," he said.
"I serve Lord Aulë. I'm Erenquaro."
"I'm Aiwendil." The smaller Maia wiped his eyes and smiled a little more broadly. "Would…if you want maybe…would you like to be friends?"
What weight that still remained in Erenquaro's spirit faded away. He returned Aiwendil's smile. "Yeah, I would," he said.
~o~o~o~
Erenquaro sat at a table with a foaming mug of Vanyarin ale in front of him, listening to Curumo and the other head smiths talking. As he had predicted, their conversation centered around the Forges and their projects and the techniques of their craft. He himself might as well have been a shadow sitting on the corner stool as he swirled his drink boredly and sank into the indistinct buzz of noise from a dozen conversations. The Sun Chariot was full this evening, a hearty mix of both Eldar and Maiar. The Vanyarin owner's willowy, gold-haired daughter was playing the sweet strains of The Sun's Rising on an ocarina while her brother beat out the heady rhythm on his bodhrán. The smell of thick duck and leek stew permeated the close air, mingling with the sharp alcoholic tang of the ale that matched the taste on his tongue. He blew on the foam and took another sip.
A sudden hand clapped his shoulder, causing him to sputter. "Speaking of which," Curumo said, "I plan on seeking a favor from Lord Aulë tomorrow to see if we can't get this fellow here a forge of his own."
Four pairs of Maiarin eyes fixed on Erenquaro.
"What good news," Ilsahon said, his pale, silvery eyes widening and one eyebrow lifting just so slightly. "I'm sure you'll take to it right away."
"But don't worry if it takes a bit longer than you expect to catch on," Vantanwë put in. "We can't all be master smiths like your brother here, after all."
"Bet you won't miss those burlap sacks of gems and stone, eh," Tulcaromon added with a chuckle, his deep, bellow-like voice reverberating. "Eru's blessings to you."
"Um, thanks," Erenquaro said softly, fiddling with the grip of his mug.
Curumo squeezed his shoulder. "We'll be making up for lost time before you know it," he said. "I'm afraid my own services as a master smith are in too much demand at the moment to be taking on a new apprentice, but we will find you someone suitable."
He released Erenquaro and leaned back in his chair again, nursing his drink at his chest. The grey mist in his eyes changed again, that strange, calculating activity behind them shifting to something more subtle. The corner of his lip curled upward. "Which reminds me, did I mention to you that apparently our esteemed guest is under the impression that he's going to receive an apprentice?"
The other three Maiar leaned in a little, eager glints coming into their eyes. "You spoke to him again?" Vantanwë said, leaning an elbow on the table.
Curumo smirked. "The deluded traitor came by to stir up the cinders in a spare forge and bearing some ridiculous story about Lord Aulë giving him an apprentice." The Maia snorted. "We all know how Lord Aulë used to dote upon him, but I can hardly imagine our Vala, as tender-hearted as he may be, failing to see the severe hazards inherent with allowing a proved reprobate and defector to give instruction to anyone. Not to mention that I can't possibly see what he'd have to teach that was worthwhile. I hope he knows that even the least of our apprentices can probably forge a length of chain without his aid."
The other Maiar laughed.
Curumo's smirk widened. "I guess it will be up to us to make sure he's not churning out any torture devices or cursed armbands or kidnapping any of the elven smiths to turn into something monstrous. I myself have never seen an orc, but I suppose if we see any hideous, fanged monsters running around, we'll know who to throw into the Void."
"I don't even know why he bothered to come back," Ilsahon mused between a sip of ale. "Seems to me he would have been better off staying in the ruins of Endor."
"Didn't Eönwë capture him though?"
"No, I heard the story from Fiondis. Sauron surrendered of his own accord."
"And is it truly so surprising that he did?" Curumo responded languidly. "Mairon always did need an excessive amount of attention. You all remember how you'd think he was dying if Lord Aulë wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder to tell him what a wonderful job he was doing. With Melkor in the Void and Endor given over to the wild animals, the 'admirable one' probably couldn't bear the burden of not being admired and thought he could worm his silver-tongued way back and convince the Valar that he wasn't as terrible as he plainly is. And when that didn't work, he's found himself with nothing but bluster. He's a fool, is what he is."
"An arrogant fool," Tulcaromon snorted.
"I can't even imagine being so arrogant, to think he could get away after all those things he did," Vantanwë said with a shake of her head.
"Or maybe he was scared," Erenquaro said without really thinking, and immediately regretted it.
Curumo and the other Maiar looked at him in surprise. Almost instantly, Curumo's startled expression slipped into that thin, sharp look that Erenquaro knew, the one that meant he'd disappointed his older brother. "Erenquaro, I want you to think that through," Curumo said. "Why would Sauron have any reason to be scared, if indeed he is even capable of such an emotion after the sorts of things he's spent the last few Ages doing? But just assuming the longshot that he is able to feel anything resembling a healthy dose of fear, wouldn't he have run away from his source of fear, rather than towards it? The Armies of the West weren't able to root out every orc and goblin and monstrosity from Morgoth's Age, I'm sure. He could have easily fled to lord it over his master's servants in some distant land. But instead he runs straight back here into the arms of everyone he betrayed, abandoned, and fought against. What else but supreme arrogance could account for such a choice?"
The other Maiar were nodding in agreement with Curumo. Bottled frustration bubbled up in Erenquaro, that feeling that his nimble-witted older brother was dancing rings around him with his words and he was not quite quick enough to follow along. He and Aiwendil had discussed Sauron numerous times over the past week, and he tried to remember how Aiwendil had put it when they had spoken of this very quandary. Aiwendil always said things that made sense, in a way that was straightforward without the need for fancy words and rhetorical questions and all the nuances of his brother's speech. He swallowed. "Maybe…maybe something is hurt inside of him, you know, like a bird that has a bit of twine stuck in its throat, and he was scared. So he came back for help."
The other smiths looked decidedly uncomfortable now, but there was a warning glint in Curumo's eyes as he slipped an arm around Erenquaro's shoulder once again, the friendly, outward façade still fixed in place. "I think you've forgotten that you really are still a very young Maia in this world, and all of us have been here since the beginning," Curumo said in a quiet, smooth voice. "I know you don't mean to sound foolish, but that is why we are here to teach you and guide you and help you grow in your understanding of the way things are. You are the only one here who did not know Sauron from the time when he was the 'admirable one.' Yes, you may have spoken to him briefly during the quaint little task the Valar have given you, but surely even you see that that hardly counts. I wouldn't want my little brother to be seen as foolish, nor offering up excuses for traitors, and you know how disappointed I'd be, not to mention Lord Aulë. So perhaps it is for the best if you stick to listening in the good company of those older and wiser, and perhaps you shall grow wiser yourself."
Curumo slipped his arm off Erenquaro's shoulders, and the four smiths went back to their talk as Erenquaro faded back into his corner, feeling awkward and silly and embarrassed for having spoken up amongst the company of Maiar who were all so much more cunning in the ways of the world than he. They were probably right.
All the same, he spent the rest of the afternoon wishing he was back at the Halls of Aulë with his friend Aiwendil where everything felt simple and right.
~o~o~o~
The evening was dark and cool, and the silver moonlight streaming through the window fell upon the blank parchment sitting on the bedside table in front of Sauron.
The fire Maia stared out into the darkness beyond his window unseeingly, his mind distant, memories flickering across the surface of his thoughts. Already, his life as a dark lord seemed like some strange and distant dream, yet oddly vivid and present as well as he allowed his thoughts to glide over a thousand recollections of his time in Beleriand. Absently, he ran his forefinger up and down the shaft of the quill pen resting beside the empty page.
It would be dangerous to write down his memories and knowledge, but he had already made up his mind to do so, even if it was only some belligerent, petty willpower that pushed him on. The book itself had been easy enough to acquire: a covert trip to the Parmamard and back without having to ask for a blank book and face the questions that would undoubtedly arise. He had carefully removed the binding out in the gardens and bleached the pages, after which he had carefully stitched the now-blank sheets back into the original binding as a cursory disguise. Furthermore, he planned to use Black Mark, the spy code of Gaurhoth and Angband. Sauron smiled thinly. It was he himself who had devised the code, at Melkor's behest, when the Lord of Utumno had realized that his canny lieutenant had a knack for languages. Should his book ever be discovered, that would provide him with at least a little bit of a buffer. No doubt, he would be instantly accused as the writer, but at least no one would be able to determine the specific contents; for all they would know, they might have stumbled across nothing more than lackadaisical attempts at verse. All right, that was stretching it. But at least they would not be able to prove that they had run across a book full of knowledge of Melkorian crafts and power.
Writing was not his forte, but this project felt somehow…right. For all he knew, the Valar might very well decide at any point to take even more from him than they already had, stripping away memories along with his powers. And even without that eventuality, he did not know how long it would take for his memories to begin fading on their own, given the stress his mind was presently under, stress that did not look like it would be going away anytime soon.
He tapped the tabletop thoughtfully. Tomorrow morning, he was to venture to the Halls of Nienna. Who could tell what would come of that?
He dipped the quill into the ink (ugh, how he missed his own pens from Gaurhoth, the ones he had made with a hollow chamber inside for the ink so that one did not have to constantly dip it) and let it drip for a second before bringing it down to the page, his neat script tracing the coded marks onto the parchment, his mouth moving soundlessly to the words he was writing.
"The knowledge and smithcraft of Angband and Gaurhoth, lest it be forgotten in the ruins of Melkor's domain and in the binding of powers, the memoirs of a Dark Lord…"