Námo heard The Song constantly, a celestial melody that whispered of the past, present, and future. It was a profound connection to the Great Music that had shaped the world, a reminder of Eru's vision and the destiny of all beings within Eä. Through The Song, Námo glimpsed shadows gathering on the horizon, sensing that dark times were approaching.
The harmonious strains foretold the resurgence of chaos, the ripples of Melkor's rebellion threatening to disrupt the delicate balance of Arda. Melkor had rejected his last chance at redemption, choosing the path of defiance and ruin. Námo saw this clearly in the interwoven notes of The Song, recognizing that Melkor's fate was sealing itself with each act of malice. "Melkor," Námo murmured to himself, "you truly have sealed your fate."
The echoes of his treachery reverberated through the ages, a discordant strain that could not be ignored. Despite the impending darkness, Námo knew he could not forcibly alter this path. The world and its inhabitants were governed by free will, a gift bestowed by Eru, the One.
Námo's role was to observe and judge, to guide where he could, but never to compel. He could offer warnings, subtle hints woven into the tapestry of events, but direct intervention was beyond his authority. Eru's gift of free will was sacred, a cornerstone of creation that even the Valar respected. Every being had to choose their path and face their own trials and consequences.
The Song had always been a constant, an unchanging melody resonating through the timeless halls of Mandos. Yet, in recent days, Námo had sensed a subtle shift within its harmonies. The threads that wove into the future felt different, hazy, and uncertain as if someone or something was subtly altering their course. What is causing this change? he wondered, the unease gnawing at him.
Eru's direct intervention in The Song was unprecedented. The One, who had shaped the Ainur and granted them the power to create, rarely intervened directly in the affairs of Arda. But now, Námo sensed the faintest touch of Eru's hand, like a gentle breeze disturbing the surface of a calm sea. What could this mean for us all? he pondered, feeling the gravity of such an intervention. The implications were profound and unsettling, suggesting that the fates of individuals and the course of history were being nudged in unforeseen directions.
As the Valar discussed how to proceed and identify the Maiar who might have been influenced by Melkor's schemes, Námo contemplated the implications of this subtle interference. The sanctity of free will, Eru's greatest gift to his creations, remained unchanged. Yet, the slight disturbance in The Song hinted at a greater purpose, a cosmic design unfolding beyond the understanding of even the Valar.
Aulë's heart ached as he thought of his own Maiar, particularly Mairon. The idea that his beloved pupil could be so deeply affected by Melkor's malice filled him with sorrow and a touch of guilt. Had he missed signs of this corruption? Could he have done something to prevent it?
The conversation was interrupted when they sensed two Maiar appear nearby, causing raised eyebrows among the assembled Valar. While it wasn't forbidden for Maiar to come to their council, it was highly unusual, especially for two to arrive almost simultaneously during a crucial meeting. Manwë felt a twinge of concern, his mind racing with possibilities. Could this be related to Melkor? he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of recent events. The possibility of another disruption made his usually calm demeanor tense with unease.
"This is unusual," Varda remarked, ever vigilant and perceptive. She gracefully volunteered to ascertain the purpose of their unexpected visit.
As Varda ushered in the two Maia—Eönwë and Mairon—Námo's gaze fell upon Mairon. So, it is you, Námo thought, noting how the haze in The Song, the uncertain future strands, converged prominently around this Maia in particular.
The weight of this realization settled heavily upon Námo's shoulders. Eru's direct influence in The Song was a rare occurrence, and to see its effects so palpably manifest in Mairon meant that a pivotal role had been entrusted to him, whether the Maia knew it or not. Námo understood that Mairon's decisions now carried a weight that extended far beyond his own fate; they had the potential to shape the course of history and the lives of countless beings.
Mairon's demeanor made clear what Aulë had meant by 'weird behavior'. The Maia stood before the Valar with stiffness and discomfort, as if each moment was a struggle. His sharp eyes, betraying a hint of unease, troubled the gathered Valar. Their concerned glances spoke volumes of their shared apprehension.
Varda had mentioned Melkor's involvement in this interruption. Yet, the extent of Melkor's influence on Mairon remained a mystery, casting a shadow over the chamber. What had transpired between the Dark Vala and Mairon to leave him looking like that? As the Valar pondered these questions, Námo's gaze locked with Mairon's, and he glimpsed the profound impact of Eru's intervention.
Mairon's fëa, once youthful and vibrant, now bore signs of age beyond its years. Glimpses of a future that could have been, but now never would, flickered in Mairon's spirit, revealing the extent of the damage. Eru's hand had intervened, mending what was broken, yet leaving behind echoes of suffering and shadow.
He saw Mairon as he was before Eru's intervention, a figure resembling the dark lordliness of Melkor himself. In those glimpses, Sauron's shadow stretched long over the lands of Middle-earth, his dark deeds etched into the very fabric of the world. The echoes of his malice reverberated through the ages, promising a future steeped in darkness and despair.
Yet, amidst these visions, Námo detected an unsettling anomaly in Sauron's feä. It was not merely the corruption and malevolence typical of those swayed by Melkor's influence. It felt more insidious, a malevolent presence intertwined with Sauron's very essence.
As Eru's intervention had removed the malevolent presence, the lingering shadows around Mairon's feä had also started to gradually lift. Yet, despite the healing touch of Eru, Námo sensed a profound resignation within Mairon. To the Maia, this reprieve felt temporary, overshadowed by a haunting certainty of an inevitable and dire fate awaiting him.
That explains why he is so afraid right now, Námo mused silently. Even now, Mairon is clearly expecting me to reveal all his dark deeds and judge him evil enough to be immediately destroyed, Námo reflected silently, a surge of compassion welling within him. Sensing the Maia's turmoil, Námo decided to reach out through a temporary connection, sending a wave of comfort through the bond.
'Calm down, little Maia,' Námo conveyed gently, his voice resonating within Mairon's consciousness. 'I would like to speak with you after this meeting. But for now, you came with a message?'
'Little Maia?!' Sauron's thoughts echoed with incredulity as Námo's soothing voice enveloped him, breaking through the tense atmosphere. In his surprise, Sauron's guarded emotions slipped, and he sent an indignant look at Námo. The Vala's lips twitched, and a wave of amusement rippled through their connection before Námo withdrew.
Sauron couldn't understand why Námo, after seeing everything he had done and how far he had fallen in the other timeline, tried to comfort him. There hadn't been even a hint of anger or hate emanating from Námo through their connection. The perplexity of this realization gnawed at him, leaving him in a state of unease and confusion. Memories of his darkest deeds surfaced unbidden—tortured screams, desolate lands, and the suffocating darkness he had embraced so completely. The stark contrast between Námo's gentle understanding and the weight of his own guilt was almost unbearable. Why would anyone offer me comfort after all that? he wondered.
The other Valar watched this silent exchange with raised eyebrows. It was obvious that a mental conversation had taken place between the two, causing the other Valar to wonder what was said that caused not only the formerly tense Maia to relax slightly but also to cause enough amusement that Námo, a Vala who rarely smiled, almost did.
That looks like a good sign, Eönwë thought, watching the exchange between Námo and Mairon. If Námo doesn't look mad after discovering whatever it is that Mairon did, then he is unlikely to be punished.
Varda's eyes sparkled with curiosity, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. She glanced at Manwë, who nodded slightly in understanding. The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief, the tension easing minutely as the Valar exchanged glances, their expressions softening.
Still, it had already been several minutes since Manwë had asked why Mairon had requested this meeting. Noticing the lapse, Eönwë nudged Mairon gently, reminding him to respond.
Sauron started slightly at the touch, the momentary reprieve from Námo's unexpected kindness leaving him feeling slightly adrift. He took a deep breath, steeling himself as he prepared to address the council. The eyes of the Valar upon him were no longer quite so daunting, the atmosphere not as oppressive as before.
"Melkor talked to me again today," Sauron began, but had to pause as the formerly relaxed Valar tensed again and Tulkas interrupted him.
"When?" Tulkas asked, looking at Mairon intently.
"Forty minutes ago?" Sauron guessed. "I came to talk to you after the conversation ended." Well, give or take ten minutes to panic and try to come up with any other option that didn't involve going to the Valar or submitting to Melkor's choices.
"That proves it!" Tulkas exclaimed. "As soon as we finish interrogating him, he goes to the Maia we already suspected he's tried to sway. Are we really going to give Melkor even more chances?!"
Manwë hesitated. "What did he say to you, Mairon?" he asked, his voice soft but filled with deep sadness. Manwë felt the sting of regret and compassion mingling within him, wishing he could do more to alleviate the pain and darkness that had settled over Mairon. The thought that one of their own could be so tormented by Melkor's influence filled him with profound sorrow.
Sauron glanced around the council chamber, seeing the mixture of suspicion, concern, and expectation in the eyes of the Valar. Námo's earlier comfort still lingered, giving him the courage to speak.
"Melkor spoke of power and dominion, of a new order with him at its head," Sauron began, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "He envisioned a world reshaped according to our shared vision, with him as the ruler and me as his closest ally." Sauron's gaze remained fixed on the Valar as he continued, his expression solemn. "He wanted me to join him, to be his right hand in enforcing our will upon Middle-earth."
As Sauron spoke, he could see the reactions of the Valar—a mix of anger, sadness, and disappointment. Their eyes narrowed, and their faces hardened at the mention of Melkor's ambitions. They knew all too well the destruction and chaos that the fallen Vala had already wrought upon Arda. Yet, to Sauron's surprise, those emotions didn't seem to be directed at him.
Why? Sauron wondered, puzzled. He had expected them to condemn him just as much as Melkor, but their gazes when they flickered to him were only filled with concern. He had braced himself for their judgment, for the inevitable wave of wrath and rejection. Instead, he found only empathy and worry etched in their features.
"And what was your response?" Manwë asked, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a profound sadness that seemed to reflect the weight of the ages.
Sauron blinked up at him, wondering if Manwë expected him to say, 'I said yes and then I came here because why not, right?' A glance around the room showed that most of the Valar were still watching him with concern. Eönwë beside him had tensed slightly but tried to smile reassuringly when their gazes met.
"I told him he was foolish, expecting to create something while destroying everything around him. He...didn't particularly appreciate that," Sauron grimaced, wondering if he should have just kept quiet about that when talking with Melkor—maybe he wouldn't have gotten mad enough to threaten the beings Sauron cared about.
Aulë immediately appeared next to him. "Did he harm you?" he asked, concern evident in his eyes as he scanned Mairon's aura for any signs of damage. Seeing Mairon up close, Aulë's heart clenched with a mixture of anguish and helplessness. The bond they shared was still strained and blocked. How did I let this happen? he thought, guilt and regret shadowing his usually steady demeanor. The fear of losing Mairon to darkness weighed heavily on him, and he vowed to do whatever it took to protect him.
Befuddled, Sauron blinked up at Aulë, the honest worry and care in his eyes throwing him off balance. "No?" Sauron answered, the uncertainty in his voice clear.
Irmo, ever perceptive, interjected, "But he did say something that bothered you even beyond that, didn't he?" He knew that if Melkor had only talked about Mairon joining him, the Maia might not have sought the Valar out so urgently, considering how apprehensive he had initially appeared.
"He told me if I didn't join him, he would destroy the feär of Olórin and Nárie." The words hung in the air like a death knell. Sauron's mind raced with the gravity of the threat. He could vividly picture the destruction of their very essences, the obliteration of everything that made them who they were. A wave of horror swept through the room, a palpable shock that left the Valar reeling. For Sauron, the threat was a chilling reminder of the lengths Melkor would go to achieve his aims, and the terrible price of defiance.
A heavy silence fell over the council chamber as the gravity of Mairon's words sank in. The Valar exchanged worried glances, their expressions reflecting a mix of disbelief and outrage.
"Destroy their feä?" Varda murmured, her voice tinged with sorrow and anger. "Such an act would be an abomination against Eru's creation. Melkor has indeed gone too far."
Tulkas, his face darkening with rage, slammed his fist against the armrest of his chair. "We cannot allow this! Melkor must be stopped before he causes any more harm. To threaten the lives of our kindred is unforgivable." His mind was a whirl of anger and protective instinct. The mere thought of Olórin and Nárie's destruction filled him with a fierce resolve. Melkor's cruelty had reached new heights, and Tulkas swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to shield his kin from such a fate. The threat was not just a strategic maneuver; it was a personal affront that demanded swift and decisive action.
"Yes," Manwë agreed, his voice tinged with sorrow. The last shreds of hope for his brother seemed to wither away. To even threaten such an atrocity meant that Melkor was truly lost to them. And that was before they considered the fact that Melkor was already trying to recruit again. The full weight of this realization settled over Manwë like a dark cloud.
Manwë glanced at Mairon, his sadness lifting slightly as he beheld the Maia. It dawned on him that Melkor had likely told Mairon that he would be severely punished by the Valar if he revealed the truth of their conversations—why else would Mairon be so terrified of them that he had even blocked the connection to the Vala he served and admired? Despite his fears, Mairon had still sought to warn them. This act of courage filled Manwë with a glimmer of hope that not everything was as lost as it seemed.
"Tulkas, Oromë, Ulmo, go find Melkor," Manwë commanded, his tone firm and resolute. "The rest of us need to talk to our Maiar to see who else he has approached." The Valar nodded, and the three designated to hunt down Melkor set off immediately, their faces set with determination.
The immediate action of the Valar brought a profound sense of relief to Sauron. Hopefully, this meant that Olórin and Nárie would now be shielded from Melkor's threats. But now, Sauron wondered, What do I do? The Valar were distracted, so maybe he should slip away before they remembered that they needed to punish him? Sauron glanced at Eönwë, who was still standing beside him. I wonder if he would say something if I tried that.
Eönwë didn't even notice Mairon's glance at him, too immersed in his own troubled thoughts. To hear that Melkor had been recruiting again, to know that he had come so close to swaying a Maia he knew personally, filled him with worry about who else had been approached. Thank Eru that Mairon refused and came to warn the Valar, Eönwë thought. The possibility that Mairon might have agreed if only to save Olórin and Nárie, was horrifying. They would have never even known and would have condemned Mairon as a traitor.
Before Sauron could decide if he wanted to try his luck at slipping away unnoticed, Manwë approached them, causing Sauron to inwardly curse. "Thank you for telling us," Manwë said sincerely, looking at Mairon. Manwë couldn't help but notice how Mairon seemed to tense again at his approach, and a new wave of sadness filled him. What have you done to him, Melkor? Despite Melkor's darkness, Manwë had always hoped that his little brother would come back to them. Now he wondered how much damage his hope had caused. How many others has he approached? How many would have been swayed without us noticing if Mairon hadn't come forward?
Manwë sighed deeply, his gaze softening as he looked at Mairon. "You have done a great service today, Mairon. It takes immense courage to stand against the darkness."
Sauron felt the sincerity in Manwë's voice, momentarily dispelling the shadows of fear and doubt that had gripped him. "I didn't know what else to do," Sauron admitted, feeling more uncertain than he'd ever like to admit. "I couldn't let him... destroy them."
"We understand," Manwë replied softly. "And we will do everything in our power to protect those you care about. You have done the right thing, Mairon. Do not doubt that."
Sauron once again felt raw and exposed, but for some reason, he didn't feel afraid, even though he was surrounded by Valar. The warmth in Manwë's eyes and Aulë's kind regard next to him made it harder to remember why he had despised and feared these beings so much. Still, one Vala knowing about his past was enough—he didn't even know why Námo hadn't reacted badly to that knowledge. He both did and didn't look forward to the meeting where he would find out.
Yet, there was one thing that still bothered him, despite the warmth surrounding him—no one had mentioned what his punishment would be. A part of him said to just leave it be, but another part didn't want it to pop up as a surprise later.
Something of his hesitation must have shown in his aura, as Aulë suddenly reached out to gently tilt Mairon's chin in his direction. "What's still bothering you, little flame?" Aulë asked softly, his voice filled with gentle concern. His heart swelled with a tender affection as he looked into Mairon's troubled eyes. The nickname, once spoken in moments of pride and joy, now carried a weight of sorrow and longing. I'll help you through this, Aulë silently promised, feeling an overwhelming desire to protect and heal the Maia he cared for so deeply.
"What's my punishment?" Sauron asked reluctantly, unable to mask his worry under the concern in Aulë's eyes and the gentle hold on his chin. His hesitation hung palpably in the air, a rare vulnerability he couldn't entirely conceal.
"Punishment?" Manwë repeated, a hint of confusion clouding his features. "For refusing Melkor?"
"I did consider Melkor's vision," Sauron replied, his tone edged with defiance. The warmth and concern emanating from the Valar had softened something within him, leaving him uncomfortably exposed. The thought of punishment now seemed like a necessary reminder of his resolve, a counterbalance to the warmth he was beginning to feel.
Manwë regarded him thoughtfully. "We do not seek retribution, Mairon," he said gently. "We offer guidance and correction, not punishment."
"...what?" The question reverberated through the council chamber, charged with Sauron's confusion and an undercurrent of disbelief. He couldn't fathom why the Valar consistently defied his expectations, refusing to mete out the retribution he anticipated. A subtle furrow creased his brow as conflicting emotions churned within, like a tempest roiling beneath a deceptively calm surface.
"What if I had joined him? Helped him do terrible things? Or done even worse ones myself?" Sauron's voice rang out, the defiance in his tone belying the turmoil within. He turned away from Aulë's comforting presence, his gaze now fixed squarely, almost desperately, upon the Valar.
He knew that only he and Námo were aware of his dark deeds in the other timeline, but he desperately needed clarification. "Would your response be the same if I sought redemption for those sins? Would you still welcome me with open arms?"
Sauron had always assumed that Olórin's and Eönwë's offers of repentance were futile. He believed that if he ever agreed to seek redemption, the Valar would still cast him into the Void, deeming him beyond salvation for his dark deeds as the Dark Lord of Mordor. He didn't know if he would have taken redemption if he knew the offer was genuine, but what bothered him was that a core assumption of his could be so wrong. He had always agreed with Melkor's claims that the Valar only sought blind obedience and that any divergence would be harshly punished. Those assumptions had stayed even after Eru saved him. If he had been wrong about them, what else had he been wrong about?
The realization struck Sauron deeply, unsettling the very foundation of his beliefs. If the Valar's intentions were not as ruthless and uncompromising as Melkor had painted them, what did that mean for his entire worldview?
The Valar blinked, taken aback by the intensity of Mairon's question. They failed to grasp the significance of his inquiry, unable to understand why Mairon was so adamant about obtaining an answer to hypothetical scenarios that seemed unrelated to his current situation.
Sauron's voice shook with suppressed emotion as he continued, "I need to know... If I had chosen a different path, one filled with darkness and destruction, would there still be a place for me here? Would you offer me forgiveness and a chance to start anew?"
The Valar exchanged glances, their expressions softening as they recognized the turmoil within the Maia. They understood the weight of his questions, the underlying fear of rejection, and the desire for assurance that he could find redemption, no matter how far he strayed.
Manwë smiled at Mairon, his eyes filled with compassion. "Mairon, our doors are always open to those who seek redemption. Even if you had walked through the shadows, we would welcome you with open arms and help you find your way back to the light."
"We did offer redemption to even Melkor," Irmo said gently, his gaze fixed on Mairon thoughtfully. He sensed there was a deeper meaning behind Mairon's questions, a weight that went beyond mere speculation. The sorrow he felt resonating through his twin bond with Námo only affirmed his intuition.
"The fact that one being rejects and spurns a second chance," Námo's voice interjected, his eyes on Mairon with a profound understanding of the Maia's inner conflict, "does not mean we would deny another the opportunity."
Sauron's gaze immediately focused on Námo. The Vala was the only one who knew everything he had done as Sauron so he was the only one who could provide an accurate response. When Námo initiated another temporary connection, Sauron almost welcomed it, desperate for an answer.
'Yes, little Maia, even after everything you did then, we would have welcomed you back and helped you return to Eru's path,' Námo said gently through their mental connection before his tone turned chiding, 'And we still won't turn you away if you pursue your new plans on Middle-earth to influence events for your own benefit.' Sauron winced slightly as Námo gave him the mental equivalent of a gentle tug in reprimand.
'I... forgot you saw those too,' Sauron said, feeling slightly guilty and off-footed. The weight of the Vala's insight bore down on him, both a comfort and a burden. It was a stark reminder that his intentions, no matter how hidden he thought them to be, were laid bare before the Vala. The realization that Námo knew the darkest corners of his soul, including his deeds as the Dark Lord of Mordor in another timeline, could have been paralyzing. Instead, it strangely brought him a sense of unexpected calm.
The biggest reason he had been afraid to face the Valar or even unblock his bond with Aulë, was that Sauron feared they would find out about his actions in the other timeline where he became the Dark Lord of Mordor and punish him. The mere thought of their judgment and the punishment he anticipated had kept him in a perpetual state of guarded isolation.
The realization that Námo knew his secrets and yet offered comfort instead of condemnation was both unsettling and strangely comforting. It tempered Sauron's instinctive urge to sever any bond with Námo, to flee from the Vala's presence.
Abruptly, Sauron became aware that while he and Námo were having their mental discussion, the other Valar were still present. They had witnessed his frantic quest for answers to what they likely perceived as hypothetical scenarios. The realization that he had exposed his vulnerability in front of them struck him with a cold dread.
Desperately, Sauron tried to gather his fallen composure, to mask his emotions behind a facade of calm once more. It felt almost futile. His mind raced as he sought to shield his inner turmoil from their perceptive gazes. Yet, the vulnerability that had surfaced in his exchange with Námo refused to be easily hidden. They saw, he thought, anxiety creeping into his mind. How much did they understand?
'Why do you still fear them finding out?' Námo's gentle voice inquired. Sauron started at the question, his eyes widening slightly as he realized he had forgotten about the active connection between them.
'Do you still fear that we shall judge you?' Námo asked, his mental voice infused with a patience that Sauron found disconcerting. 'Yes,' he admitted silently, feeling the weight of his fear pressing down on him. The concept of redemption seemed almost foreign to him now, a distant dream he had long abandoned. The memories of his past sins felt like chains, binding him to a fate he believed he deserved. How can anyone forgive what I've done? he thought, the image of the countless lives he had ruined flashing before his eyes. The irony of seeking redemption after spending so long embodying everything opposed to it was not lost on him.
'Why not?' Sauron sent back sullenly, reflecting his skepticism. 'I still don't know why you took that information so calmly.'
'I did say we should talk after the meeting,' Námo mused before teleporting next to Mairon. "I'm going to steal Mairon for a bit," he announced, placing a hand on Mairon's shoulder.
Aulë raised an eyebrow, watching the exchange with a mixture of curiosity and hurt. He had observed Mairon's frantic search for answers, feeling a pang of sorrow that the Maia had sought comfort in Námo's guidance rather than his own. Memories of teaching Mairon, of moments shared in the forge, flooded his mind. The distance that had grown between them felt like a personal failure, and he silently vowed to reach out to Mairon, to rebuild the trust that had been lost. Aulë's heart ached with the realization that his beloved student had felt so alone.
"We need to discuss some things in private," Námo added, his tone gentle yet firm. The other Valar exchanged glances but did not object. They trusted Námo to know what he was doing, even though they didn't fully understand the situation.
Námo teleported them away, but just before they disappeared, Sauron caught the fleeting expression of hurt in Aulë's eyes. Guilt gnawed at him, knowing that his distance had caused the Vala pain.
They reappeared in Mandos, the halls of which were vast and solemn, their dark stone walls imbued with a haunting beauty. The sudden shift in environment gave Sauron a moment to breathe, to gather his scattered thoughts. The echoes of the council's discussions still lingered in his mind, interwoven with the fear that had plagued him since Melkor's threat. As he followed Námo through the imposing corridors, Sauron reflected on the weight of the revelations and the emotional toll they had taken. This brief respite allowed him to steel himself for the private conversation that awaited.