10. The Weight of Redemption

Mairon's mind reeled from the revelations and emotional turmoil of recent days. The flood of tears had ceased, but the ache in his heart remained, raw and relentless. A sense of foreboding lingered at the edges of his mind, hinting at challenges yet to come. The faint scent of lilacs drifted in from the garden, mingling with the earthy aroma of the ancient stone walls. He stayed in Olórin's embrace, neither willing to let go.

For so long, he had viewed Olórin's actions through the lens of his own guilt and resentment, never seeing the true motivation behind them. Now, with the clarity of hindsight, he saw the depth of Olórin's love and commitment, how his brother had never given up on him despite everything. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind?

Sauron felt the weight of his misjudgments and the pain of his own betrayal, but also the healing balm of Olórin's unwavering faith. Eönwë and Nárie remained nearby, offering their silent support, though neither knew what Olórin and Mairon had discussed through their bond. Their presence was a steadying force in the midst of Sauron's turmoil.

"How many others do you think Melkor has approached?" Nárie asked, his voice a gentle murmur. The air was cool and crisp, with a hint of morning dew still clinging to the grass. The soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds filled the glade, creating a peaceful backdrop to their tense conversation.

Eönwë began to pace, his brow furrowed in concern. "I don't know," he replied, the weight of his realization pressing heavily on him. It had been a shock to realize that he had missed Melkor's attempts to corrupt Mairon, a Maia he knew personally. The thought gnawed at him, making him wonder how they were going to identify the Maiar whose loyalty might be wavering.

Eönwë's mind was a whirlwind of guilt and responsibility. As the herald of Manwë, he prided himself on his vigilance. Yet, Melkor's manipulation of Mairon had slipped past him. How many others have I failed to protect? The weight of this realization pressed heavily on his shoulders. "We must act swiftly," he said, a determined edge to his voice. "The longer Melkor is allowed to spread his influence unchecked, the more difficult it will be to root it out." He turned to Mairon, a bit hesitant to disturb the two brothers.

Mairon's earlier breakdown had unnerved him, making him anxious about how they were going to help the Maiar affected by Melkor. His influence on Mairon had been profound, ensnaring him so deeply in his web that Mairon had been terrified to even talk to the Valar. He was thankful for Melkor's miscalculation—by threatening those Mairon cared about, he had pushed Mairon away from him. Still, Mairon's earlier breakdown showed that he hadn't remained unchanged. Now he looked calmer, and Eönwë fervently hoped that Mairon would be okay. "Mairon?" he asked gently, his voice laced with concern.

Sauron lifted his head to glance at Eönwë, silently questioning what he wanted. "Did Melkor reveal any of his plans? Or any Maiar he has already approached or is planning to approach?" Eönwë asked.

Sauron hesitated, wondering how to respond. How much can I reveal without exposing my past allegiance? He hadn't even realized this before Eönwë's question, but as Sauron tried to recall the names of the Maiar who had joined Melkor in the other timeline, he couldn't. The scent of freshly turned soil and the distant hum of bees in the garden seemed to mock his fragmented thoughts. Olórin placed a reassuring hand on Mairon's shoulder, sensing his frustration.

Sauron's memories of Valinor were slow to return, like shards of a shattered mirror scattered across time. Fragments flickered into his mind unexpectedly, triggered by encounters with other Maiar and the Valar, or by visiting places where he had once walked in ages past. But his memory was still fragmented. The fact that the traitorous Maiar had all changed their names and eventually most stayed fully transformed as either Balrogs or dragons didn't help.

Only one name stood out in his memory—Curumo—and that was because the Maia had joined Melkor only after Curumo and the four other Maiar were sent to Middle-earth.

Olórin, who had been reading his thoughts through their still fully open bond, asked, 'What do you mean you can't really remember Valinor?'

'Just that,' Sauron replied, somewhat defensively before slumping. 'I don't know. My memories of my time here have been hazy since I left for Middle-earth.'

Olórin paused, looking thoughtful and worried. 'Did Melkor do something to them?'

'I always just assumed that the Valar were punishing me through their loss,' Sauron reluctantly admitted. His recent interactions with the Valar and especially his conversation with Námo made him doubt that.

'Mairon!' Olórin chided gently but firmly. 'You mustn't think that way. The Valar do not punish out of spite or vengeance. If your memories are clouded, it is more likely Melkor's doing than any punishment from the Valar.'

Sauron frowned slightly. That possibility stung more than he would like to admit. The Valar punishing him had made sense—Sauron had positioned himself as their enemy and wreaked havoc on Middle-earth. Punishment was what he expected.

But Melkor? The one who was supposed to be on the same side, manipulating his memories for some unknown reason? It made no logical sense to him. He had trusted Melkor, followed him faithfully, even when his own doubts whispered of treachery. To consider that Melkor might have tampered with his mind was a betrayal deeper than any he had ever known.

'Why would Melkor do that?' he murmured, more to himself than to Olórin. 'What would he gain from clouding my memories of Valinor?'

Olórin's expression softened with a mix of sympathy and sadness. 'Melkor's machinations are often beyond understanding, even for us. His desire to control and corrupt knows no bounds. If he thought that keeping you from remembering your true home would keep you loyal, he would not hesitate.'

Sauron felt a hollow ache in his chest. The realization that his loyalty might have been built on manipulated memories and deceit was a bitter pill to swallow. Olórin, sensing the turmoil within his brother, tightened his embrace. 'We will uncover the truth together, Mairon. You are not alone in this.' Sauron sent back feelings of gratitude, a warm pulse through their bond.

It had been so long since he had someone he could fully trust. During his time as Sauron, he had always maintained a facade of strength, unable to show weakness to his subordinates. Melkor, ever perceptive, would seize upon any emotions or thoughts he gleaned from Sauron, twisting them into mockery or worse. The isolation of constant vigilance and the necessity of hiding his true self had been a lonely, suffocating existence.

Now, with Olórin's comforting presence, Mairon felt a glimmer of hope. It felt easier to imagine a future where he could begin to heal, to trust, and perhaps to rediscover the parts of himself that had been buried under the weight of his past.

Sauron took a deep breath, trying to focus on the fragments of memory that had come to him. He couldn't provide the names of the Maiar who had joined Melkor; the only one he knew for sure—Curumo—hadn't been approached until after Melkor had already attacked Valinor. However, there was one detail that Melkor had always preened about.

"He wouldn't really say any names," Sauron told Eönwë slowly, "But there would sometimes be this look in his eyes when talking about the other Valar, especially Tulkas." Eönwë's eyes widened in slowly dawning realization. "He would always say that it was only a matter of time before everyone realized how unfit Tulkas was to lead," Mairon continued, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Mairon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the memory surfacing with vivid clarity. The dark halls of Angband were filled with an oppressive air, thick with the scent of burning pitch and the distant echoes of clashing metal. Sauron remembered standing by Melkor's side, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. Even then, there had been an unspoken understanding that Melkor's ambitions knew no bounds, and that his plans were far from over.

FLASHBACK

Melkor sat upon his dark throne, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. He leaned forward, a twisted smile playing on his lips as he addressed Sauron and the other gathered Maiar.

"Ah, Tulkas," he began, his voice dripping with disdain. Melkor's eyes gleamed with a cold, hard light, and the shadows seemed to dance malevolently around him. "The mighty warrior, the unyielding champion of the Valar." Sauron felt a twisted sense of satisfaction at Melkor's words, a dark pride swelling within him. "He fancies himself invincible, a pillar of strength and virtue." Melkor laughed, a low, sinister sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. "But even the strongest fortress has its weaknesses. And Tulkas, for all his might, could not see the cracks forming beneath his feet. His arrogance blinded him to the truth."

Melkor stood, pacing with a predator's grace. "He never suspected that his own Maiar, those sworn to his cause, could be swayed by my words. He underestimated the power of doubt and the allure of true strength." He stopped and turned to face Sauron directly, his eyes boring into his with an intensity that sent a shiver down Sauron's spine. "I have taken from him what he holds dear," Melkor continued, his voice now a triumphant roar. "Many of his loyal followers now stand with me, seeing the futility of their allegiance to a fool. They have embraced the power I offer, the promise of true greatness."

Melkor's eyes narrowed as he continued, his voice laced with venom. "Tulkas has always been a thorn in my side. From the moment he first arrived in Arda, he has opposed me. He was the one who wrestled me to the ground when the Valar first captured me, the one who took such delight in my humiliation. And during the War of the Powers, it was Tulkas who led the charge to drive me out of Utumno."

His pace quickened, and his fists clenched in anger. "He represents everything I despise about the Valar—their blind obedience to Eru, their naive belief in order and harmony. Tulkas, the golden-haired fool, believes that brute strength and unyielding loyalty can maintain their precious balance. But I have shown him that doubt and ambition are far more powerful."

Melkor's eyes blazed with a fierce light as he fixed his gaze on Sauron. "This is more than just a personal vendetta. Tulkas is a symbol of the Valar's flawed rule. By corrupting his followers, I strike at the very heart of their strength. I undermine their authority and prove that their so-called champions are not invincible."

END OF FLASHBACK

Sauron shivered slightly as the memory faded, his eyes opening to the present. The cool breeze rustling through the leaves brought him back to the glade, the scent of blooming flowers grounding him in the moment. He remembered the dark satisfaction he had felt at Melkor's words, a twisted sense of pride in being part of what he then saw as a greater cause. Understanding Melkor's obsession with Tulkas, he realized, added a layer of complexity to his former master's motivations. It was not just about power or dominance; it was a deeply personal vendetta, a relentless drive to tear down the pillars of the Valar's authority, embodied in the defiant, indomitable figure of Tulkas.

Melkor's ability to corrupt and manipulate was unparalleled, and he had used that skill to turn Tulkas's own allies against him.

But now, as Mairon sat in the glade, the weight of those memories pressing down on him, he saw the truth for what it was. Melkor's triumphs were built on lies and deceit, his power sustained by the corruption of others' hearts. The very strength that Melkor had mocked in Tulkas was the same strength that would ultimately be his undoing.

Eönwë frantically jumped to his feet, the soft grass crunching under his boots. "I need to warn the Valar. If your intuition is correct and Melkor really was targeting Tulkas's Maiar specifically, they need to be aware." As Eönwë shifted, preparing to teleport away, he hesitated slightly and looked at the other Maiar in the glade. "Please, be careful. Melkor's reach is long, and he will not hesitate to strike at those closest to Mairon."

Olórin stiffened, and through the bond, Mairon could feel a wave of protectiveness coming from him.

"Just stick to public places or near the Valar until we identify the Maiar Melkor has corrupted," Eönwë advised, his voice firm and reassuring. With that, he disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the glade suddenly quieter, the gravity of his words hanging in the air.

Nárie, sensing that the two brothers still wanted to talk, also got ready to leave. Nárie turned to Mairon with a warm, reassuring smile. The faint scent of lavender clung to his robes as he placed a gentle hand on Mairon's shoulder. "Are you still up for meeting tomorrow to discuss possible improvements for the orb?"

Mairon immediately agreed, grateful for the prospect of something that might ground him. "Yes, absolutely. I think I need it more than ever now." The thought of working on something tangible and familiar was a welcome relief. One more emotionally charged conversation, and he felt he might rebel just to escape the intensity.

Olórin, ever perceptive, sensed this thought and poked Mairon reproachfully through their bond. 'You can't run from your emotions, little brother,' he chided gently. 'Confronting them is the only way to heal.'

Sauron winced slightly but didn't argue. He knew Olórin was right, even if he wasn't ready to admit it out loud.

Nárie watched Mairon with a mix of concern and determination. Ever since their days under Aulë, Nárie had seen the spark of brilliance in Mairon. He remembered the countless projects they had worked on together, and the laughter they shared. The thought of losing Mairon to darkness was unbearable. "I'll be here for you, Mairon. We all will." Mairon just nodded in thanks.

As Nárie disappeared in a soft shimmer of light, Sauron felt the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him again. The day's events had drained him emotionally and physically, leaving him with no strength to put up defenses or fronts.

Olórin sighed softly, tightening his grip around Mairon slightly. The thought of how close he had come to losing his brother without Eru's intervention scared him. Mairon had always been independent, more concerned with his own thoughts and ideas than building friendships with other Maiar. But Olórin had never expected those qualities to lead his little brother down such a dark path.

"We both need rest," Olórin decided, "Though this place," he looked around the glade, "probably doesn't fit Eönwë's definition of 'safe' or 'near a Vala'."

Sauron snorted and sighed, feeling the truth of Olórin's words but still neither of them moved. Sauron leaned more heavily against his brother, allowing himself a rare moment of vulnerability. They laid there for close to an hour, just watching the nearby birds and butterflies flit around. The sweet scent of flowers filled the air, mingling with the gentle hum of life around them. The peaceful scene was a stark contrast to the turmoil within Mairon, and the knowledge that this tranquility could be shattered at any moment weighed heavily on his mind. Olórin brushed a stray leaf off Mairon's shoulder, the simple act grounding them both in the tranquil moment.

In the distance, they saw several Maiar tending to the gardens. Some were singing soft melodies, their voices blending harmoniously with the songs of birds. Others were engaged in quiet conversations, their faces serene and content. The scent of blooming flowers mingled with the earthy aroma of the ancient stones, creating an atmosphere of tranquility that contrasted starkly with Mairon's inner turmoil.

Bit by bit, Mairon started to feel better, no longer like a wrung-out towel lying on the ground. The calm of the garden, the gentle hum of life around them, and the solid comfort of his brother's embrace slowly restored some of his strength. He allowed himself to breathe deeply, feeling the fresh air fill his lungs and the peace of the moment settle into his bones.

Manwë sat on his throne, the last Vala to leave, ensuring that the other Valar knew what needed to be done. He felt a profound sense of responsibility for the current situation—he had been the one who most fervently advocated for giving Melkor a second chance, despite the doubts he and the other Valar harbored.

He remembered how, after Eönwë relayed Mairon's suspicions that Melkor had been targeting Tulkas's Maiar, Tulkas had clenched his fists and teleported out without saying a word, a storm brewing in his eyes. The information Eönwë shared not only deepened Manwë's guilt but also strengthened a nagging thought that had lingered since Mairon confessed about Melkor's attempts to recruit him—there was something Mairon was still hiding, even after revealing the contents of his conversations with Melkor.

One thing stopped him from inquiring further—Námo had clearly seen whatever it was and deemed it unnecessary to involve the other Valar. The way Námo had focused on him, speaking to him during and after the meeting, told Manwë that Námo was handling the situation. Manwë hoped that, for the sake of his Maia Olórin, Mairon's secret wouldn't lead to a repeat of the tragic fate Melkor sought to reenact—the brilliant younger brother going down a path the older brother couldn't or wouldn't follow.

Melkor had tried convincing Manwë to join him at the dawn of Arda's creation. Even then, Melkor was discontent with the way things were, but Manwë had sensed the darkness of the path his brother intended to tread and had refused, trying to persuade him to stay. Manwë often wondered since then if he might have stopped Melkor's further descent into darkness if he had followed his little brother, or if he too would have been corrupted.

Manwë sighed and shook his head, casting off the lingering memories and regrets. He needed to focus, to determine if Melkor had approached and attempted to tempt any of his own Maia. Well, Manwë thought despondently, at least I know for certain that Olórin hasn't been approached. The thought that his own little brother would stoop so low as to threaten Manwë's Maia with complete annihilation hurt deeply.

Reluctantly, Mairon left Olórin's embrace. "We should move to a less open space," he said, remembering Eönwë's warning. The concern in his brother's eyes mirrored his own thoughts. Though the garden offered a momentary sanctuary, the reality of their situation couldn't be ignored. They needed to remain vigilant and ready for whatever Melkor might do next. Mairon asked, "But where?"

"How about your room? Unless, of course, you've started another experiment," Olórin suggested with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Sauron rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to push his brother into the stream. That was the second time since his awakening back in Valinor that someone had brought up his tiny miscalculation. As Sauron thought about it, more fragments of the memory surfaced. The idea for the self-powered light orb had worked; he just hadn't realized how potently two of the runes would interact. The damage hadn't even been that bad, Sauron defended himself mentally. It was a learning experience, after all. Just a bit of collateral damage.

"Mairon," Olórin said slowly, a note of amused exasperation in his voice, "you destroyed your room and both of the rooms next to yours."

Sauron huffed. "The damage was minor. Besides, it was a learning experience."

Olórin chuckled. "A very explosive learning experience."

Sauron couldn't help but smile despite himself. "I did manage to finish it," he said. He recalled seeing the project among his belongings yesterday, which had brought up memories of working on it again after his neighbors calmed down about the damages. "With improvements," Sauron finished.

Olórin raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Improvements? Should I be worried?"

"No," Sauron replied confidently. "I'm pretty sure it's stable."

Olórin turned to give him a judgmental look. "I'm pretty sure that's what you said when you activated it the first time."

"Details," Sauron waved his hand in dismissal.

As they playfully argued, Sauron allowed himself to enjoy the moment. The playful banter with Olórin reminded him of simpler times, before the darkness had clouded his spirit. It was a small comfort, but in the face of everything, it felt significant.

Mairon's heart felt lighter than it had in ages, buoyed by the simple joy of his brother's company. It was moments like these that gave him hope—hope that he could truly change, hope that he could find a new path.

Yet, as the warmth of the moment began to fade, the gravity of their situation crept back into Sauron's mind. Thoughts of Melkor's threats against Olórin and the impending attack weighed heavily on him. The realization that Melkor was plotting to infiltrate Valinor and destroy the Trees gnawed at his peace. Sauron knew he needed to figure out a way to stop the attack or at least prevent Melkor from gaining entry into Valinor. The Maiar still loyal to him hadn't left, so Melkor still had a way in.

Sauron's frustration rose, becoming visible now that he no longer needed to hide it with Eönwë and Nárie gone. Despite his efforts, he still couldn't recall any names of the Maiar. He could picture their corrupted forms clearly in his mind, remember the roles they played under Melkor's service, but their identities before the fall? Nothing came to him. Why can't I remember their names? Sauron thought in frustration. It's like trying to grasp smoke.

Olórin felt Mairon's frustration and sent feelings of comfort through their bond. "We will figure it out," Olórin softly assured him again.

"How?" Sauron asked, his voice edged with frustration. How were they going to stop Melkor if his memory of Melkor's attack on Valinor was so fragmented? Melkor had threatened the lives of Olórin and Nárie, and Sauron couldn't afford to let his former master's plans to infiltrate Valinor and destroy the Trees succeed. It was almost ironic that Sauron, once Melkor's greatest ally, now opposed him. But any lingering loyalty Sauron had felt had snapped completely under Melkor's recent threats.

Olórin pondered how to piece together Mairon's fragmented memories. Even the bonds between Ainur were insufficient for fully transmitting such complex recollections. During the moment when his bond with Mairon had fully opened, Olórin had only glimpsed fragments and impressions, yet even those had been enough to paint a horrifying picture.

"Weren't you working on something related to memories?" Olórin asked slowly, recalling an instance a few days ago when Mairon had mentioned being too busy to talk, citing his innovative work with memories. The realization that this was the last conversation Olórin had with this timeline's Mairon hit him hard and he grimaced. It would take time for Olórin to fully process this revelation—that his little brother was irrevocably changed, had lived far longer than him at this point, and experienced much tragedy and darkness.

Sauron started. Memory orbs. Why hadn't I thought of using them? They were far from perfected, but they might provide a clearer picture by viewing the fragmented memories through them. Without hesitation, Mairon teleported to his room, sensing Olórin following closely behind. He and Nárie had created two orbs and then each taken one to brainstorm improvements in private.

Sauron retrieved the memory orb from its resting place, feeling its cool, smooth surface against his palm. He recalled as many faint fragments of his recollections as he could—darkness, the Trees dying, chaos. As he focused on it, the orb began to glow softly, projecting fragmented images into the air. As Olórin viewed the memory in the orb, they could both see a faint, giant shadow moving among the Trees. Olórin looked confused, but something finally clicked for Sauron.

"Ungoliant," Sauron exclaimed, his voice filled with both dread and determination.
"Who is Ungoliant?" Olórin asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

Mairon took a deep breath, summoning what he knew about the dark entity. "Ungoliant is a primordial being, a creature of darkness that predated even the Valar's arrival in Arda. She is a vast spider-like entity, a devourer of light and weaver of shadows. Melkor found her lurking in the deepest pits of Avathar, a desolate region in the south of Aman."

He paused, trying to recall any specific details of what she did during the attack on Valinor, but his memories were frustratingly hazy. "I don't have clear memories of exactly what she did during the attack on Valinor, but I know she was responsible for the destruction of the Two Trees. Melkor struck them, and Ungoliant consumed their light, leaving only darkness and death."

Sauron's voice grew firmer as he shifted to what he knew more concretely. "What I do remember clearly is what she did in Middle-earth. Her presence there had a profound impact on our movements and efforts to consolidate power. After Melkor fled from her, she settled in the Ered Gorgoroth, the Mountains of Terror. Her offspring spread throughout the region, creating an area of impenetrable darkness and dread."

He continued, "This region became a significant obstacle, not just for our enemies, but for us as well. The spiders she spawned were fiercely territorial and disrupted our plans to extend influence into certain areas. Their presence forced us to divert resources and efforts to navigate around their territories. Ungoliant's insatiable hunger and the darkness she created stymied our attempts at control and added an unpredictable element to our strategies."

Olórin listened intently, the gravity of Mairon's words sinking in. "So, Melkor used her to bring about chaos in Valinor," he murmured, piecing together the implications. "And she is still out there, a lurking threat."

Mairon nodded. "Yes, and if Melkor plans to unleash her in this timeline as well, we must be prepared. Ungoliant's power is immense, and her hunger for light and life is boundless. She is a formidable enemy, one that could bring great destruction if left unchecked."

"You need to warn the Valar," Olórin's words kept echoing in his head. Sauron grimaced at the thought of revealing everything to the Valar. At the Ring of Doom, he had only mentioned that Melkor had approached him and shared some details of his offer. The idea that Melkor would reveal all his attack plans to a Maia who hadn't yet sworn loyalty seemed implausible. Sauron doubted the Valar would believe that he had such comprehensive knowledge of Melkor's schemes without having pledged his allegiance.

Saurons grimace grew harder, trying to figure out how to convey the information without revealing the source of his knowledge—his actions of joining Melkor and causing untold destruction in the other timeline. What lies could he tell to convince them?

"Mairon," Olórin said firmly but not unsympathetically, sensing the direction Mairon's thoughts were heading.

Mairon looked away, unable to meet his brother's gaze. The weight of his secrets and the shame of his past actions were too heavy. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment or concern in Olórin's eyes, knowing that every lie he considered telling would be another betrayal of the trust his brother was placing in him.

Sauron had spent ages protecting himself, hiding any vulnerabilities. Since his time travel, events had conspired against him—more and more of his barriers were being broken, his facade cracking far too often. He had spent so long believing that others would exploit any weakness that these moments, where others saw beneath the mask and then didn't attack, left him off balance. It felt like someone was constantly shaking his foundations, uprooting them and leaving Sauron unmoored.

Námo and Olórin had truly seen him—without all his masks—and neither had condemned him. Both had chosen to help and support him. This left Sauron with a strange, growing warmth in his chest, but also a sense of unease. It felt as though he was being changed, slowly molded into someone else with each reluctant revelation of the truth.

"You can't hide it forever," Olórin said softly. He looked at his brother sympathetically. He could well understand why Mairon would be reluctant to reveal everything he had done, to reveal the dark path he had taken in the other timeline. But still, one couldn't hide something like this forever, at least not from the Valar. The truth would come out sooner or later.

"I know," Sauron grimaced slightly. The thought still filled him with dread despite what he had learned from his conversations with the Valar. "Námo already knows."

"Wait, you told him?" At Mairon's incredulous look, Olórin's eyes widened in realization. "Oh, in a soul reading."

Mairon nodded. "Yes. It was... unavoidable. He saw everything."

Olórin studied Mairon as he spoke. Despite Námo, the Vala known for judging and seeing the truth of any being, knowing everything he had done, Mairon didn't seem unhappy or afraid. Considering that Mairon hadn't even intended to tell him, this calmness implied a lot.

"How did it go?" Olórin asked, though he could already guess the answer.

"Weirdly fine," Sauron frowned. The fact that the Vala had taken it so calmly still shocked him.

Olórin's brow furrowed slightly in thought. "Námo must have seen something in you, a potential for redemption that outweighed your past deeds. It's not in his nature to condemn without seeing the whole picture."

Sauron sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's just... I expected anger, condemnation, something more severe. Instead, he seemed almost... understanding."

Olórin nodded. "Námo's wisdom is profound. He sees the layers of our souls, the complexity of our choices. He must have seen the struggle within you, the desire to change."

Sauron's gaze softened. "It was like he could see past Sauron to the Maia I once was. It was both comforting and unsettling."

"That's because he can," Olórin said gently. "And so can I. You are not just the sum of your past actions, Mairon. You have the capacity for great good, and it's that potential that Námo saw."

Sauron took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his brother's words settle over him. "I suppose... I need to start believing that myself."

"You do," Olórin agreed. "And you need to share what you know about Melkor's plans. The Valar need to be prepared."

Sauron nodded slowly. "I will bring it up to Aulë tomorrow," he said, deciding he might as well achieve two objectives with one conversation rather than draw it out. He knew he needed to tell the Valar about Melkor's plans, but he also knew he needed to talk to Aulë. The memory of the pain in Aulë's eyes gave him another tinge of regret.

At Olórin's questioning look, Mairon defended himself, "I was serious about that revolt if I have to deal with more emotions!" He knew that any talk with Aulë would be emotionally charged. He had seen the Vala's pain when Mairon had chosen to keep blocking him. There was no way Aulë would let it be without demanding an explanation at some point.

Olórin's gaze softened with understanding. "I know it's difficult, but facing those emotions is part of your path to healing. Aulë cares deeply for you, and addressing this will help both of you."

Sauron sighed. "I know. It's just... I don't know how to explain everything to him. The decisions I made, the reasons behind them. How do I even begin to justify my actions?"

"You don't have to justify them," Olórin said gently. "Just be honest. Aulë values truth and sincerity. He will understand more than you think."

Mairon took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. "I'll try. I owe him that much at least."

Olórin smiled encouragingly. "That's all anyone can ask. Just remember, you're not alone in this. We're all here to support you."

Mairon nodded, feeling a mixture of anxiety and determination. The prospect of facing Aulë and revealing the truth about his decisions and Melkor's plans weighed heavily on him, but he knew it was necessary.

Sauron was about to continue their discussion, but Olórin gently said, "Later," and guided Mairon to the bed. The soft fabric of the blankets brushed against their skin and the faint scent of cedar filled the room.

This feels odd, Mairon thought to himself. He hadn't trusted anyone in ages enough to let them into his bedroom, let alone his bed. Intellectually, he knew that they had done this before, many times, but it felt like trying to slip into old clothes that were too small.

Olórin didn't try to force him to relax or sleep. He simply closed his eyes and curled closer to his brother. Olórin's soft breathing calmed something deep within Mairon, a part of him he had almost forgotten existed. Tentatively, he mirrored Olórin's position, feeling the warmth and familiarity of the presence beside him. Slowly, the tension in his body started to ease.

As Sauron lay on the bed next to Olórin, the soft rustle of leaves outside the window and the distant chirping of crickets created a soothing lullaby, but his mind kept whirling. There was still so much to do, so much to accomplish if they wanted to thwart Melkor's plans. Sauron had no idea how they were going to succeed, but as he looked at the peaceful face of Olórin—the brother who had sacrificed everything for his sake in the other timeline—he swore that in this timeline, he would honor that loyalty. He would not let Melkor hurt him.

No matter what.

Mairon's thoughts began to drift, the constant whirl of anxiety and fear quieting in the steady rhythm of Olórin's breathing. He closed his eyes and memories of simpler times surfaced—times when trust and camaraderie were the norms, not the exceptions.

He felt Olórin squeeze his hand gently, a silent promise of support. "We'll face this together," Olórin whispered, easing Sauron's troubled thoughts. For the first time in a long while, Sauron believed it. The barriers he had erected around his heart and mind began to crumble, and he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Slowly, sleep began to claim him, pulling him into a realm where fears and regrets held no sway. His breathing synchronized with Olórin's, creating a harmonious lullaby that eased him further into slumber. The last conscious thought he had was one of gratitude—gratitude for the second chance, for the support of his brother, and for the hope of redemption.

As Mairon drifted off, Olórin's presence remained a steadfast anchor, grounding him in the promise of a new beginning. The challenges ahead were still formidable, but in this moment of peace, Mairon felt ready to face them. For now, though, he let himself surrender to the healing power of rest, knowing that with Olórin by his side, he could weather any storm.

Together, they lay in the quiet of the room. In the comfort of his brother's presence, Mairon found a semblance of peace. And as the day wore on, he slept soundly, his dreams untroubled for the first time in ages. The Song's future strands, curled intrinsically around Sauron due to Eru's intervention, were still uncertain. Yet, the inevitability of confrontation was like a loud, discordant note, looming ever closer.