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a_world_of_whimsy

Arien knew not where she was. The place her spirit found itself in was dark and cold and empty. Nothing could be heard, not even the faint but welcoming songs of the stars. And she felt weak. So very weak.

So cold. It is so cold.

Arien missed the sun, that bright golden orb with its all-consuming heat and blinding light. Her task was a simple one: to be its guide, for she and she alone could endure its flames, and she did her duty well. She had others for company—other Ainur who had also been tasked with guiding and protecting the new lights that were born of the fruit and flower of the Trees.

Our tasks were joyful and peaceful, until he sought me out.

Melkor had come to her in Ilmen, saying, “Oh most radiant, she who is the guide of the sun, I desire you above all others and wish to make you my wife, the way Varda is Manwë’s wife. Take my hand, and when the kingship of all Arda is in my grasp, you will rule by my side, as both my queen and my love.”

She rebuked him without a second thought, even while the others quailed before him. “Speak not of love, for you love none but yourself. I see it in your heart. And speak not of kingship, for you shall never be king of Arda. Be gone from this place, my lord, for the fires of my spirit will neither burn for you nor will they serve you. Be gone now, and trouble us no more!”

Never had anyone denied him in such a manner—so brazenly and so openly. Melkor hurled himself at her in the form of a great shadow beast that obscured the light of the surrounding stars, wrathfully declaring, “The gift which you have withheld I will still take!”

Arien trembled, refusing to dwell on what happened after. She prayed instead, for Ilinsor and Tilion, and all the others, hoping against hope that they prevailed and that Melkor was driven back to the dark places from whence he came.

And what became of the sun? She wondered. What became of it after she departed in her anguish? Did Melkor take into himself its heat and light the way he attempted to take into himself her powers?

The Maia gathered what strength she had left and allowed herself to drift through the shifting passageways she found herself in. At least there was no danger to be found here; nothing lurked in the shadows that swirled around her like the mist. Arien sighed softly, feeling some sliver of the peace that was nearly taken from her in its entirety. She called out once and then twice, and all she received in reply was the faint echo of her own voice.

Am I in the Void?

Arien had only heard tales of it, the dwelling place of the primordial beings that had lived and breathed long before those like her were even conceived in Eru’s imaginings. They had all been warned to never seek it out, for the brave few that did venture into it were never found.

Save for Melkor, that is. He had plunged deep into the darkness of the Void, all because of his desires to seek the Flame Imperishable for himself. Some had gone on to say that he was never truly the same after his return, but Arien now considered them to be the gentle-hearted words of those still struggling to comprehend how one such as him could fall from Eru’s grace.

“Arien? Arien? Are you here?”

She did not answer, having recognized who it was that called out to her. Arien made haste to hide instead, chiding herself even as she did so. Concealment in a place such as this was an act of sheer folly, for she was a being of heat and flame, and even in her weakened state, her spirit still radiated warmth and wan golden light. Still, she knew she had to keep herself safe in some shape or form, for the one seeking her out was also a servant of the one who ravished her. She delved into the shadows, sinking as deep as she could go, hoping the darkness and the cold they held were enough to shield her from his sight.

“Arien?” The one who called out to her sounded almost desperate, his voice thick with fear. He was close; she could feel it from the heat pouring out of his own spirit. “Arien? Speak to me, Arien! I mean you no harm!”

He means me no harm? Him? A servant of Melkor? Arien pulled herself free, slipping out of the shadows, her anger blinding her to the need for caution.

“You dare show yourself here?” She cried, revealing herself to Mairon. She would have sent forth the fires that dwelled within her, but she found she was too weak to even attempt such a thing. Melkor had done his work well. “You who forsook our friendship and tainted all that was once dear to us? You dare come here and lie to me with the promise of my safety?”

Mairon drifted back, alarmed by the sight of her weakened form and her dim light. “This is no lie,” he swore. “I did not know of my master’s plans until after he had departed.”

She scoffed, but Mairon was undeterred. He came to her slowly and carefully, willing his mind to open to hers, wanting her to see. “I tell you no lies,” he repeated. “See for yourself, if you wish.”

Arien rebuffed him, calling his words deceptions, and pulled further away from him. Mairon insisted, pleading in a way he had never done before, showing her what memories he could, and she reluctantly, willed herself to listen to him.

She saw much: Melkor conversing with Mairon, conducting himself like nothing untoward was about to take place. Thralls hovered around them, shivering in fear and serving them food and drink in silence. And then the Lord of Angband departed without a proper word about his whereabouts, or his intentions. Mairon did not find cause to suspect his master’s motives until he walked along the ramparts of Angband at a time when the sun was well past the zenith, and found that its light had been obscured from everyone’s sight.

“The battle was already raging when I myself entered Ilmen,” Mairon continued. “Tilion and Ilinsor and the others were being aided by the Elder King’s herald, and I brought myself here to find you.”

“And now you have found me,” she said, her curiosity almost as strong as her anger. “How did you do it, pray?”

“I confess that I despaired when I searched all over Ilmen and found nothing but stars and darkness and a vast emptiness. And then I prayed. Yes,” Mairon revealed, “I prayed. Whether the creator heard me or not, I cannot say, but something did come over me, like a warm orb of light, drifting into my heart and taking root there. It showed me the path I needed to take, and finding you was an easy thing after that.”

“Pretty words indeed,” Arien allowed, albeit reluctantly. “But how do I know you are not lying to me still, and that this is not part of some elaborate scheme to ensnare me and bring me back to your master?”

“Do you truly mistrust me, after all that I have shown you?”

“Yes, I do. You serve him, Mairon. You serve the one who marred all of Arda with his malice, the one who just a little while ago marred me. How can I believe a word you say after everything that has happened?”

“I did not know of my master’s intentions toward you. I would have done everything in my power to hinder him if I did.”

“Why?” Arien demanded, puzzled. The shadows in the distance rippled strangely, as if disturbed by some unseen being moving through them. “Why would you even attempt to do so?”

“Please, Arien,” he begged, hoping and praying his tongue would not betray him. Marion indeed had a reason to hinder Melkor, and to save her; it was something he harbored in secret, telling no one of it. He even took care not to reveal it to her when he pleaded his ignorance of his master’s intentions mere moments ago. “Please do not ask such a question of me. Not now. Not here.”

“Why?” Arien was resolute. She remained where she was, despite Mairon’s many pleas for her to come with him. “Speak true to me, Mairon, and reveal to me the reason why you would have hindered your master.”

"I cannot.”

“Please Mairon. Tell me. Please.”

I could never truly deny her. “Because… Because I love you,” Mairon confessed, his determination to remain silent crumbling to find dust. And what else could he have done? His secret was fated to come out into the light at this time; he saw it now. “I love you, Arien. Most ardently.”

Arien was stunned into silence. She stared at Mairon, her entire spirit in turmoil.

“I wish I could say more,” Mairon told her before turning to observe the shadows around them keenly. Something was moving toward them slowly, hiding within the roiling darkness, as if trying not to frighten them into fleeing by revealing itself too soon. Its efforts proved to be futile, for the shadows shifted briefly, and Mairon saw it. He could make out its large shape, and he could already feel its ravenous hunger. Then he caught a glimpse of its many teeth, lightning-bright even from afar, each one of them as sharp as large needles. He turned his attention to Arien, hoping she would heed the danger and that neither of them could linger there any longer. “But alas, I cannot. Not if we are to return safely. Come with me. Now. A dweller of this place comes for us, and I think it means to have us for its meal. We cannot remain here. I may not be able to defend us both.”

Arien did not have to be told, having already felt the dreadful chill that inched its way toward them like icy fingers. She allowed herself to be taken into Mairon’s embrace while he carried her through time and space, and the worlds between them. Arien was amazed. The visions that greeted her were unlike anything she had ever seen during her many journeys in Ilmen; they were beautiful and wondrous to behold. She treasured all that she saw, committing everything to memory, and then she lamented when their journey came to an end and she found herself being carried across warm, golden sand.

Too soon. It was over too soon. And there is so much he and I need to speak about.

Mairon set her down to rest within the shade of gilded palm trees. They were now in the enchanted isles, the furthest into Valinor where he was willing to go for her sake. But he knew that he did not have to worry for her. Already, he could hear Uinen moving swiftly through the waters, coming for her.

“I know there is more to what I need to say,” he began, his voice shaking. Already he was blaming himself for not saying a word of his affection to her sooner. Perhaps their fates could have turned down a different path if he had. “But I cannot stay here long enough to do so. My master has been defeated; I can feel it, and he is already on his way. He must not find me gone. He must never know I saved you. His fury is a terrible thing to behold.”

“But you do not have to face his wrath,” Arien returned, her thoughts still a roil. She did not know yet what to make of his confession, but she believed he could still return to Valinor proper with her. Mairon could yet be saved, she thought, and there could be another chance for them to rekindle what they once had. “You do not have to face Melkor. You do not even have to leave. Come with me, Mairon. I will stand by you when you are called before the others. They will pardon you once they learn how you risked all to save me. You will see.”

Mairon sighed. “Ah! If only it was so easy. My love, if you knew what I had done, all of what I had done, you would never utter such things. My fate is a different one, and it is already set in stone. I cannot alter it now. It is too late. I must go.”

“Wait!” She cried, unable to understand why he wished to leave. The others could be moved to show him mercy; she was certain of it. “Please wait. Your confession… the things you said… I need to know more.”

“I yearn for nothing more than to tell you all that you need to know. But I cannot.” Agony, brutal and indescribable, tore through him—hotter and sharper than any blade he had forged. And Mairon, grappling with the torment of their fast-approaching parting, knew he could not ignore his master's call. He was a Maia after all. It was in his very nature to serve, and serve he must, for that was the price he paid for pledging himself to one of the Valar. He knew he had to answer Melkor’s summons and return before he arrived at the imposing keep he called home and found that his most trusted servant was nowhere to be seen. “I must return before the master finds me gone. Farewell. And please do forgive me, my love, for having to leave you so soon.”

Before Arien could say another word, before she could even rise or move a single step, Mairon reached for her. It was a kiss she felt, full of warmth and light, and it came with a parting gift: a small but invigorating portion of the vitality of his spirit, to feed and strengthen her own. And then he was gone, splintering into a waterfall of smoldering embers that were carried on the back of a powerful eastern wind.

Arien called out to him. And then Arien screamed for him, cursing him for forsaking her yet again, cursing his name, cursing the name of his master. And then she wept. She wept for what she had to endure, for the friend she lost, for what could have been, but was now no more. She wept and she wept, her bitter tears falling hot and quick upon the sand, burning them wherever they fell, turning golden grains to grey and black.

cilil #1

"I have a song for you."

Arien turns her head to face Mairon as he says those words, surprised and elated.

It has become a bit of a habit for them, meeting in Vána's meadows after their duties for the day are taken care of. Sometimes they talk for hours, sometimes they sit together in silence and admire the flowers and the sky, warming each other when the wind gets cold. And yet, even though Mairon has brought small gifts and trinkets for her on a few occasions and Arien has given him flowers, neither of them has shared a song before.

Her fána heats up with excitement.

"I'd love to hear it," she says.

"Very well."

Mairon rises from his seated position and holds out his hand. Arien takes it without hesitation and follows, standing in front of him with wide, curious eyes.

"Watch," he whispers and lifts his free hand.

Before she can ask what he means, he starts to sing. A tiny flame forms in his palm, growing and flickering, and for a moment Arien worries that it could outgrow the hand that holds it and harm her lady's flowers or that they could be caught kindling fires; still, she finds herself unable to tear her gaze away from the flame or protest, bewitched by the tender melody she hears. The notes seem to flow like water, but they are warm and light like the fire they both wield.

Mairon smiles as he sees her looking at the little flame in wonder and continues to sing, willing it to grow and shape itself like one of Arien's beloved flowers. Her eyes shine in delight like the flickering fiery petals she beholds in silent admiration, and all of her worries are forgotten.

Never has she felt as content and at ease as she does now, listening to Mairon's song, watching him summoning and shaping their shared element so effortlessly, witnessing its beauty; never before has she felt so close to another Ainu.

Arien remains frozen in awe even after Mairon stops singing and the flame dissipates alongside his song's final notes, floating skyward like a swarm of fireflies until the sparks have all disappeared.

"I feel like no one will ever understand me like you do," Arien whispers. "Thank you... thank you so much for all of this. I shall cherish it..."

Mairon caresses her cheek with his free hand, still warm from the fire, and leans in to plant a soft kiss on her lips. It's over before Arien knows it, making her crave more.

"Kiss me again," she whispers and brings their foreheads together. "Don't stop."

His lips brush against hers once more, his breath warming her skin.

"As you wish..."

cilil #2

Another day of menial work. Another day of eternity.

And this was supposed to be paradise?

Lost in gloomy thoughts, Mairon nearly walked past the bouquet of dandelions placed on his doorstep. Surprised, he picked them up and marvelled at their bright golden colour. Compared to the ones that grew on the fields of Valinor, these ones were luminous, like small fiery stars, and he could feel a familiar song thrumming within their petals.

Arien.

Mairon would recognize her touch upon her flowers anywhere.

"Remember?" they seemed to whisper to him and suddenly he understood. Once upon a time Arien had taught him the language of flowers, and the ones she had brought him spoke of hope and healing.

He looked up at the sky and watched the sunset. At least she still believed in a future.

maironite #1

From the beginning of It All she had looked at him. His fires pulsing bright, his spirit shining fiercely, his voice clear and free of imperfection. She had no memory of how it had begun, her attraction to Mairon, before she knew herself there had been nothing and then she had been made, Arien, spirit of Fire and her own flames had called to him. Her love for him had been part of her own very soul since before she took notice of the Music.

So it had hurt when he had gone elsewhere, when his voice wavered under the weight of the Discord and its doubts and tempered its intensity in its aftermath. When he had gone into Eä she had followed because it made sense to, it was not a clear conscious decision. Mairon had gone there so Arien, spirit of the same Flame, had followed.

She had sung with him too, hoping he would notice her voice, her own fires and compliment it. When the Labours for Arda began and fires were kindled to form its core he had then called forth others of mindlike skills and she had answered.

Next to him her own flames seemed dimmed but it never filled Arien with resentment nor embarrassment. She had joined her voice to his and along with others they sung a great chorus, bright and fierce and behold! For Arda was now formed and great fires held Her together.

Then they had made Almaren and the Island that was Home and Arien had laughed and ran and delighted in all matters of light for the Lamps were beautiful and so were the Stars, great celestial bodies burning around them. And Mairon had smiled at her and welcomed her friendship. He was a great Maker and smith, only second to Aulë, and loved to gift the few selected friends at his side with little presents. To Ossë and Uinen he made them matched tiaras of blue and silver pearls and shells and to Arien a collection of golden and amber bracelets that sung together when she moved her arms.

Almaren had been Paradise. Until the Lamps fell.

Aman had been different, and so had Mairon. Arien watched as he preferred the company of another, hidden like a taboo in the darkness of Endórë. She nursed her broken heart by tending to Laurelin and found joy in its golden light. But to Mairon she remained friendly and faithful even when Tillion's interest for her began to stir.

When the Quendi awoke and Mairon began to vanish for entire weeks at time she walked through the newly made city of Tirion and tried to befriend those strange Children of Ilúvatar, most beloved by their Valar. But to them Arien shone too bright and they would soon look aside with tears in their alighted eyes for her fires were alive with the brightness of her Spirit.

It became lonely and she wished for Mairon's company more than anything.

When he came back, changed and withdrawn, Arien was nonetheless grateful he welcomed her company and over time even sought it. For Ossë, his brother in heart had been away in Middle-Earth for long and there had been a sense of solitude in Mairon's spirit, unquenchable and it seemed to her, bottomless.

Then Melkor was chained deep within Mandos Halls, and the Spring of Aman began where hearts rejoiced the new peace under the divine lights of Laurelin and Telperion much developed between her and Mairon.

For as much as his mercurial moods remained, and his propensity for melancholia isolated him, they would linger under the shade of Yavanna's Pastures, tucked in a secluded corner and exchanged kisses that left her bereft of thoughts.

During that time he held her close and whispered in her spirit thoughts of grand fires and golden lights, of harmony of their flames and unity of their purposes. To her it had seemed that Mairon was almost coming back from his darker side and she dared hoping for a binding of their spirits in the fashion of their dear friends Ossë and Uinen.

But then. Melkor came back amongst them and Mairon pulled back and to Arien it seemed the world had grown colder and dimmer.

And dimmer it did grow when the Trees were killed and the light was gone and so was Mairon, back in Angband away from her fires and as she sang in despair amidst the darkness.

And then darkness answered back by ensnaring her and much grievance was done to her spirit and fana.

The following years saw her rising above Earth and leaving its confines as she was given the guardianship of Anar, the Sun, born from the last fruit of Laurelin that Arien had loved above most. And her flames rekindled softly to their previous ardour as she guided the young light above Arda for the first time in a blazing red sunrise that forced all fey creatures of Morgoth to hide.

Yet amongst the awe and love the Quendi felt and sent in her direction Arien heard another voice, a familiar pitch, raspy and forlorn and it seemed to her that Mairon was singing of Apologies and goodbyes. Arien remembered their fires and while he committed himself to the path of Darkness Everlasting she vowed to offer him one last chance, if it were to arise, to show her compassion for she would not forget the Music and the initial purposes of his Flames under Eru's will.

So Arien would wait. And waited, and hoped and loved until the World would Broke and be Remade for she loved him and would always. And so as Tillion would sometimes burn himself trying to approach her, Arien would never waver but exhaust much of her mind awaiting Mairon.

maironite #2

Almaren - 2400 V.Y

“What is this?”

“Something called Mind Your Own Business.”

“Charming as ever Mai.” Arien chuckled as she threw a dry glance at her companion. Mairon was laying in the grass with his back against the bark of a tree, a thick book in his lap he was scribbling in. The artefact Arien was carelessly rotating between her hands was a beautiful icosahedron made of gold from which within floats tiny shards of ruby and specks of azurite.

It was a beautiful day - but then again it was all they had known on the blessed island of Almaren, at the centre of the Lake. Perfect symmetry basked in divine light of the Lamps Aulë and Mairon had helped build. The pillars were their masterpieces, not since the Music had their gifts mixed and produced such a gorgeous result. Taking root in the utmost depth of Ambar where Mairon’s fires swirled and pulsed, it was anchored through the rocks covering Ambar, deep mountain roots Aulë and him had sung together, both of their voices mingling together to weave higher and lesser minerals together.

Almaren was beautiful, nay it was gorgeous. True paradise they had worked on, trying to come as close as the Vision they had been shown by The One long ago.

Arien readjusted her position so her head now laid against Mairon’s shoulder then closed her eyes.

The artefact sung softly of newborn days, swirling particles of matters as light as photons.

“It is lovely.” she commented once her eyes opened again and dropped the curious object back on the ground. Mairon hummed noncommittally while still writing but there was a small smile on his lips.

“I’m working on a new type of matter.” he said after a while, Arien was drowsing happily against his form, both their flames gently echoing each other. Mairon never liked having others near himself, first because sometimes his own fires were difficult to tame down to a subdued state, but mostly because save from a selected few, most of the other Ainur were extremely dull on their best days. Arien with her own untempered flames that turned her eyes into burning lights when Ormal would reflect in them was however someone he could admit to recognise as a friend.

“Of what sort?”

“Don’t know yet.” He closed the book he had been jotting down notes about properties of Hydrogen at high temperatures. He fleetingly wondered if Melkor might be interested in this before tucking the thought away, flustered at his own thoughts of trying to impress the mighty Vala that had departed Arda.

“Aren’t you supposed to help Vána?”

Arien hid her smile against his sleeve and gave a low chuckle, “Maybe I wanted to spend today in better company.”

A snort,

“Arien, if that was the case you would not be here with me.”

“Low confidence is not part of your charm Mairon, especially when I know you do think very highly of yourself.”

Mairon was fully smirking at her by then as he reached for a curl of her hair and tugged playfully. Her fana was beautiful to look at, her flames even more, she was looking over the horizon as he stared at her profile, the freckles over her full cheeks, the gentle slope of her nose, her rosy lips, yet out of nowhere, in his mind all he could suddenly see was Melkor’s sharp cheekbones, the beauty of his jaw, his eyes, so daunting so entrancing, his rich tenor calling his name.

Mairon flushed and looked away as he disengaged from her and stood up, pretending to dust at his robes to hide his own flustered state. More than once he had caught himself thinking of Melkor’s lips in a way that was unbecoming of one of Aulë’s Maiar.

He pretended not to see Arien’s small sad smile when he leaned down to pick up the artefact he was working on and offered to walk with her to Yavanna’s forests. Mairon could allow himself to spend some time with the Valië who had unilaterally decided to adopt him.

Almaren - 3400 V.Y

“I suppose we are expected to attend.”

“I suppose so. Or we could fake an impediment.”

A bright chuckle made Mairon and Ossë turn as Arien appeared behind them wearing a sparkling diaphanous golden dress that made Mairon stare for perhaps slightly longer than he was comfortable with. Ossë whistled in admiration. Arien linked her arms with theirs as she forced them to resume walking toward the main event of the day.

“Do you really want to have Tulkas chasing you down for daring to miss his own wedding?”

Mairon let out a groan at the idea, Tulkas was perhaps the physically strongest of them all but his personality stopped there. Nessa was slightly more tolerable but she was kin to Oromë which in Mairon’s opinion was not a proof of quality of mind. Not that he might dare voice this opinion considering Yavanna’s own sister was married to him. For some unknown reasons. They were walking down the hill they had chosen to appear on and from there could see how the glade the festivities would take place.

“Yavanna and Vána outdid themselves!”

And indeed flowers and trees had been weaved with a mastery only the two Valiër sisters possessed, a festival of colours painted all surfaces in yellow, silver, carmin, orange, cobalt, pink and indigo. Plums, roses, daisies, dahlias, hyacinths and so forth had been grown in a circular pattern to echo the likeness of Arda’s perfect symmetry. Their perfumes hung heavy in the air and the faint buzz of bumblebees with butterflies dancing under the golden light of Ormal made one feeling at ease, free of inhibitions. He recognised the enchantments of Melian mixed with the boldness of Oromë and his Maiar, whom Mairon strongly suspected would have come to the wedding of his own sister wearing mud soiled vestures unless Vána had insisted on his good behaviour.

“Uinen isn’t there?”

“Alas no!” cried Ossë as he pretended to keel over triggering another laugh from Arien. Mairon only rolled his eyes way too accustomed to the dramatics of his brother. “Not yet. She was asked to remain with the future bride as part of her entourage.”

“An opportunity to be free if only for a few moments of your company then.” Mairon interjected with a smirk but Ossë gave him a fake-condescending look as he drew himself taller, “At least I do have a wife, being married to your work is not healthy Ô Admirably Mairon.”

“Works for Aulë and Yavanna.” he shrugged, deciding to ignore Ossë’s not so quiet “Should we tell him?” he looked toward the imposing fana of the Smith who was in deep conversation with - “Is that Ulmo?”

A genuine laugh escaped him at the sight of the Vala of the Seas clad in what was possibly the quirkiest fana one could have come up with. Ulmo never liked taking physical form, his mighty power extended too much into the liquid property of Arda for him to enjoy the physical restriction of flesh raiment, the very few occasions he had reluctantly agreed to wear a form had been short timed and generally ended with him dissolving back into water and flooding their vicinity.

And now Ulmo, master of all waters within Arda had condensed himself - though retaining a strange vaporous quality - in a shape that was half Quendi, half sea creature, with his hair hanging down his back in a green and dark tangled mass that was more seaweeds than hair and from which water dropped into a slowly growing puddle at his feet. Down his neck were gills, and over the exposed skin of his arms were hard green scales that ended in sharp claws that flickered gold and silver under the light of the Lamps.

“Don’t mock my boss.” Ossë pipped next to him and Mairon sent him a wry stare. They would not talk about it. Their forays into other allegiances, as harmless as they were.

When Aulë called to Mairon he went, dragging Ossë who was prattling to Arien about something related to seaweeds or tides - sometimes he’d just stopped listening to the other Maia for his own sanity. Aulë looked his usual self, gleaming bushy red beard and braid under Ormal, wearing his ceremonial robes and watching the three of them with a suspicious light in his golden eyes that Mairon thought was definitely unfair. This time.

“You’re late.”

“Arien took aeons to choose her vesture oi-” he rubbed his upper arm where said Maia had punched him.

“Don’t listen to him Aulë,” Arien commented sweetly and Mairon wanted to add he rarely did anyway “I found these two debating whether or not to skip the wedding.”

“Traitor.” he mouthed to her and Arien answered back with a wide fake grin. He did not miss the shared looks between the two Valar.

“Ossë,” Ulmo’s voice was between the sound of a wave flowing over shores and the drowned noise of deep seas fauna. It was not pleasant to Mairon but Ossë seemed unphased, if slightly curious at his service being requested by his own master while they were standing in a forest. Both of them went then and Mairon found himself side by side with Arien and Aulë who -not so discreetly, as it was impossible for his Master to perform such a feat - excused himself and mumbled something about checking on Yavanna. Mairon pursed his lips and Arien snorted in her hand.

“They believe themselves to be so clever.” she chuckled as both looked at a confused Ossë being whisked away by Salmar and Ómar.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Mairon whispered gently, Arien to her credits only smiled back, softness and understanding on her face.

“It’s ok I don’t mind, I’m hoping to blackmail you into a dance later.”

At some point in time it seemed that Yavanna had convinced herself that he and Arien would be the next Ossë and Uinen and had plotted various scenarios for them to spend time alone. It had grown embarrassing and annoying, but mostly Mairon thought it was callous of Yavanna for he liked Arien a lot, they were similar in spirits and elements in a way he was not with most of the Ainur and he knew Arien in turn harboured much love toward himself though Mairon could not return the strength of her feelings, he had nothing to give to her when his own heart seemed to be pulled in another direction altogether. It was not fair to her and he wished the Valar would stop forcing their own ideas on them. He already had to contend with Aulë’s limited ambitions in the forges.

Melkor listened to him though. Melkor always listened to Mairon. Still, Arien was more than good company and the heady scent of the flowers softened his moods.

“No need to resort to such tactics, I agree to one dance.”

“Two.”

“One and I let you choose which one.”

“How magnanimous of you Mairon.”

Later they had danced under the stars, amongst the Valar and Maiar and in the merriment and revelry of Tulkas and Nessa’s wedding, he had thought yes maybe this could be enough.

Almaren - 3453 V.Y

Mairon had not moved an inch since coming to what was now called the Sea of Ringil. Too many conflicting emotions were warring inside of his mind and most of them passed too quickly for him to name them, yet there was one he was aware of. Shame. It made him nauseous. This, all of this had happened because he had told Melkor how to look for the rare imperfections left at the base of the great Pillars.

When the Lamps had fallen he had watched helpless and with a strange sense of remoteness - as if watching through the eyes of someone else - as one of his own creations, the greatest since the forming of Arda, broke in a cacophony of sounds, their bases rended and hollowed by the power of one more powerful than the rest of them all combined.

And the worst of it all was that Mairon could not hide behind ignorance, he knew Melkor had waged wars against the Valar during the creation of Arda, he had known the other Vala had his own agency, his own vision of Arda. But to go about this way… he stared helpless at the ruined lands of Almaren in despair. His home. Gone. For a moment his spirit grew too restless, too anguished for him to maintain his fana and it let it slip away as he curled his spirit into a tight sphere of fire, seeking the underground fires he had kindled during the ages of Creation.

Merging with the tempestuous underground fires calmed him for a while as he let himself be dispersed amongst the molten earth and pulsing core.

Soon enough he was aware of a voice calling to him. Mairon ignored it.

When he resurfaced and clad himself back into his fana, he went directly to that new stretch of lands the Valar had quickly made and to the part where Aulë had hastily built forges. The feel of a hammer and tongs eased his heart and he threw himself into building another home.

Aman - 3500 V.Y

‘Mairon.’

Aman - 01 Y.T

‘Mairon, your fires deserved more.’

Aman - 15 Y.T

‘Mairon, forgive me but it was necessary.’

Valinor - 31 Y.T

‘Mairon, come and see the splendour of these new lands.’

Valinor - 45 Y.T

‘Mairon, Mairon, I miss you, I have all these powers and yet only you seem to understand me.’

Valinor - 63 Y.T

‘Mairon, with you by my side I could make such beautiful things. Endórë is a blank slate on which we could create our own vision. Come see it Mairon. Come see me. I miss you and I am so very alone.’

Valinor - 670 Y.T

“Uinen?”

“Oh, apologies I was simply- I mean, have you seen Ossë?”

“I’m sorry to say I have not, why?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, it’s just that I haven’t seen him in a few days.”

“I’m sure he is with Mairon, doing Eru knows what.”

“Y-yeah I suppose so.”

“Uinen is everything alright? you look a little pale my dear.”

“I’m fine Yavanna, thank you.”

Endórë - 920 Y.T

The skies above Endórë were of a dark cobalt, sprinkled with Varda’s stars and those farther away yet, shining from their remote houses in Eä. Mairon was sitting on his cloak determined to not care about the grass stains on the soft fabric. Melkor sat next to him, his fingers brushing against Mairon’s own, his face relaxed and slacked. They had kissed each other earlier and his heart was still thumping wildly against his ribcages.

Lately it seemed to Mairon he wished for more than chaste kisses even if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was wishing for. Ainur weren’t made out of body and in such physical urges were absent. Although when he was new in Arda and his focus wavered if he cut himself on a rusty edge he would bleed and bruise - and even if those were non threatening ailments for he would immediately heal himself, it was proof enough if careless they were bound to a certain extent to their raiments.

He shuffled closer to the Vala feeling warmth spread through his entire body and face. Melkor looked down with a small smile and brought his own arm around Mairon’s waist.

“Is there something you wish for, Precious?”

Mairon thought long about his answer, looked at the stars and wondered what it would feel like to merge two together.

Valinor - 1002 Y.T

Aulë had created an entire species behind their backs. Aulë had gone and broke all of the Valar rules and still, still the Smith had been rewarded by Eru himself.

Mairon slammed his hammer harder as anger and resentment flooded his being.

‘Patience Precious. Soon you too will be doing the same for me.’

Endórë - 1048 Y.T

“They will call them Quendi and will bring them back to Aman.” Mairon hissed in frustration. All his work, all their labours, ruined for he could already see it, the equilibrium and order they had strived to recreate since Almaren would be disturbed by the Children of Iluvatar. To bring a species that was immortal and yet could reproduce was akin to madness - nay, incompetence. He was pacing angrily as Melkor sitting at their usual meeting place gave him a sympathetic look.

“What are they thinking about.” he growled, flames licking at the edges of his fana, in his own anger he did not see Melkor’s hungry look, his self-satisfied smile nor the preternatural speed at which the Vala moved until strong arms had wrapped themselves around his figure. Mairon started then forced himself to relax.

“They do not deserve you my love, but fear not for I have a plan for when these Quendi will awake.”

Mairon huffed, dislodged himself from Melkor’s arms and resumed his pacing, albeit now listening.

“We are going to create our own species too, Precious and they will obey us alone.”

Endórë - 1089 Y.T

The Orcs were an aberration. For the first time since coming to Melkor he began to doubt the Vala’s real goal. The sting of betrayal sat sharp and painful in his heart and Mairon could do nothing but contemplate the ruinous life he had helped create, feeling tainted and lost.

This was not what he had ever wanted. He fled Utumno in shame and heartbreak.

Valinor - 1106 Y.T

If anyone had suspected him they shared it not. His comings and goings to Endórë had been discreet enough and never too long that Mairon still would have been able to come up with an explanation. Despite this and the lack of official suspicion regarding his allegiances, Aulë knew. Of that Mairon was certain, there was an aloofness and coldness in the Smith now, exacerbated through his tenuous relationship with Yavanna since the Making of the Dwarves. Aulë never said anything outrightly to his face, nor did he impede Mairon in his own work to prepare for the coming of the Quendi, but his eyes were untrusting and his words clipped.

Mairon bore this with detachment, He would not grovel in front of Aulë nor ask for forgiveness for they shared the same sins.

Returning to his previous life in Valinor felt alien, all the more since Ossë seemed to be spending most of his time in Endórë with the Quendi. Naturally Arien sought his presence once more, even if he had kept basic communication with her, the Maia had been busy tending to the two Trees with Melian, another Maia of Vána to whom she shared a deep friendship with.

Valinor - 1150 Y.T

“I’m so fucking pissed at Ulmo right now.” foam splashed against his ankles and Mairon rolled his trousers higher on his legs. “It’s like they don’t even let them decide, I like them the Quendi, they’re nice and sing prettily but who in their right mind will cause a Sundering of an entire species just because they’re anxious!”

Mairon had nothing more to say on the subject, not without revealing slightly too much about his occupations for the past century so he let Ossë rage, his feet splashing angrily beneath him.

“You should have seen them, they’re neat.” Mairon wanted to argue against this but held his tongue, “So now I have to see my friends,-” Again Mairon swallowed back his real thoughts on the subject, the mere idea of calling an Elf a friend seemed utterly impossible to him. “Being ferried away - on a fucking piece of land I, only me me and myself sang, to Aman. Seriously. They awoke in Endórë for a fucking reason Mairon.”

At this he made a noise of agreement.

Valinor - 1190 Y.T

“Have you heard that Melian married a Quendi in Endórë?” Arien exclaimed as she strolled through his smithy unannounced. Mairon who had been brooding and contemplating how it would soon mark the Second Age of Melkor’s Chaining let out a sigh. He was in deep melancholic moods, not fit to be anyone’s company at the moment but the other fire Maia seemed not to care as she hopped on one of his work tables and offered him a pleased grin.

Arien was always in a cheerful disposition, he recalled a period of his early life in Almaren when it would warm his own heart. Now he found it irking most of the time.

“Sounds like the stupidest thing to do.” He grumbled, staring dejected at his neglected work. Some stupid ornament for a stupid Noldor.

“Mai?”

He ignored her. There was this young prince of the Noldor everyone fussed about, first child of a second marriage, and he had been asked to make some official ornament to celebrate the soon to be 10th year of the infant. Mairon had created mountains and veins of living fire that kept the lands they tramped in stable and safe yet he was now relegated to forge kids’ toys.

He knew next to nothing about children and he vowed to remain as far as possible from them. Considering the drama he had heard (way too much about it from Yavanna who had a tendency for gossip when her sister was around) following the remarriage of Finwë and the strain amongst his people, Mairon was glad that as one of the Ainur parenthood would never be expected of him.

“Mai! Look at me.” Arien called again and he complied while throwing a sour look at her direction. “When was the last time you stepped out of your forges?”

He grumbled something under his breath but Arien closed the distance and cupped his jaw with gentle fingers.

“Come with me outside in the light. You need it.”

Valinor - 1200 Y.T

They heard about it from Yavanna. Lúthien she had been called and according to everyone who had gazed upon the infant; she was the fairest of all creatures. Mairon spent the next three months with Ossë on Tol-Eressëa away from the irritating gossiping.

And he thought, Melkor would be released in 100 Valian Years.

Valinor - 1284 Y.T

Arien had told him to meet her under Laurelin during the Mingling. It had been a good week for Mairon so he indulged her and because Arien had always been good to him despite his changing moods he brought her a new headpiece that suited her eyes well.

Her following words after they exchanged banalities had him gaped like a fish.

“You want what?”

“You heard me the first time Mai,” she protested, her entire face flushed as she toyed with the green grasses of Ezellôchâr.

“Is that even possible?” was all he could respond, because last time Mairon had helped create ‘life’, it had been nothing but. His stomach churned.

“I think? I mean Melian did it?”

“Why me?” because of all candidates possible - and Mairon was sure Tillion would have loved to step up, heck even Eönwë, but not Mairon, not him, they had no idea how much darkness resided within him. He shook his head, dislodging the small flower Arien was previously tucked behind his ear upon his arrival. He watched it fall on the grass with a sinking feeling.

“I mean-” he heard her trailed off then shifted in her position and when Arien resumed speaking, the curly curtain of her bright amber hair obscured her face.

“You’re my friend and everyone knows you’re the most powerful of us.”

“I’m-” he tried to interrupt her because this was wrong - oh no, he was powerful, but the mere idea of the blind trust Arien had in him made him sick.

“I remember the Music Mai!, I sung with you and I remember when you choose to-”

Anger flashed suddenly within him, like the brutal hiss of metal plunged in cool water.

“This means nothing now.” he hissed and immediately regretted his outburst when Arien sighed. Closing his eyes and tempering his voice he made a valiant effort to put words into this specific subject, the root of many of he and Aulë’s unsaid strife over the long years.

For Mairon had started as a partner, an equal in power and majesty. Apparently there had been some germinal humility in the beginning of his existence to humble himself such in front of Aulë. He had regretted it almost immediately when entering Eä.

“I am not a Vala, nor will I ever be one.”

They remained silent for so long Laurelin began to dim, only then Mairon leaned on

his back and tugged Arien by his side. His mind was rarely at peace lately, even less with the year of Melkor’s freedom approaching fast. But under the direct lights of the Trees he still could find some answers and clarity.

“Why do you want a child?” he asked gentler this time.

Arien lifted one hand above her, fingers splayed wide and brought it back to her chest.

“I feel lonely Mairon,” she sighed and for the first time Mairon heard despondency and an ache that echoed in familiarity. “On Almaren it was easy and now the Elves are amongst us and few can stand my presence for I burn them.”

He rolled on his side to face her, words on his tongue ready to castigate the accursed Quendi when she gave another soft sigh and closed her eyes.

“I tried Mai, I really did! To shine less and I can’t, I don’t know why they can’t look at me. They’re here and everyone loves them but I am burdened by my flames and forced to remain apart.” A lonesome tear escaped her right eye and he gathered it on his finger.

“Don’t ever dare to try to dim yourself again Arien, unless you want to see me angry.”

She huffed a wet laugh and Mairon thought no more.

It had been the first time he had kissed her. He had not really planned it, but in the back of his mind he had remembered feeling better each time Melkor had kissed him in their secret place in Endórë under the stars and the dark skies.

Valinor - 1290 Y.T

Laying with Arien for the first time had been … awkward . Ainur being spirits first Arien had little experience with physical congress. And on his part, the only intimacy he had ever known had been with Melkor, a physical technicality that changed the way he had to approach the whole thing as Mairon had always welcomed the Vala in him.

It had not be good; that he knew. He did not love her the way he had (still?) loved Melkor, and Arien had been tense and unsure. So when nothing came out of it he was not surprised. They decided not to speak about it for a little while, each occupied with their own duties as Maiar.

Until Oromë, Tulkas, Nessa and Vána threw a feast in honour of - Mairon would have been unable to tell what was the reason behind it, something to do with Elves probably. Him and Ossë had been fortunate to find a dark corner - he laughed at the irony of it, to spend the evening away from the loud revelry.

Later that night as he made his way back to his lodgings in Aulë’s Mansion, Arien had stumbled to him, clearly intoxicated in some liquor the Quendi loved to drink. He had not been surprised she could feel the effect of liquors and he suspected Nessa to have something to do with this, but Arien had grabbed him by his robes and demanded that they try again - for fun this time.

And he had wanted to forget his own longing and anxiety.

It became clear after a while that no physical congress would grant them the begetting of a child.

Valinor - 1300 Y.T

In the years that followed, Mairon would often ask himself why he had kept researching the idea. He had once claimed never wanting anything to do with parenthood yet he had poured over scrolls and dug into his primaeval memory for answers. Maybe because his own nature could not easily discarded unfinished projects, maybe it was hubris - it most certainly was hubris a little voice added - or maybe it was because Arien was withdrawing herself more and more, barely leaving Vána’s Gardens and only speaking to Eönwë or Uinen when the Maia would come in Valimar; which was rarer enough as Ossë now preferred the shores of Middle-Earth.

The answer to the conundrum came to him the day that marked the remaining hundred years until the Unchaining of Melkor and Mairon had felt untethered and restless. Despite being held deep within Mandos Halls and chained with Angainor, Melkor’s considerable powers could not totally be contained and Mairon speculated that the Vala had rested long enough for him to be able to reach out to his mind.

Far from being Ósanwë yet, it felt more like a subtle brush of his attention toward Mairon. He had almost been violently sick the first night he sensed it. Since then Mairon had closed his own mind, fortified mental walls to keep his former lover out. But he needed distractions, and the prospect of creating life the same way Aulë had, and alleviating the stain on his spirit that was his participation in the corruption of the Uruk. If he could Make something alive and beautiful again, then maybe his soul would find some notion of peace.

“Sing?” Arien said quizzically as they sat crossed legs on the rocky ground. They had gone to the northernmost part of the Pelóri in order to be sure to be undisturbed. Mairon had no idea if what they were about to do was even feasible but he needed not to have any of their brethren walking on them.

“Sing.” he echoed confidently. He had notes piled next to him, stacked in a large book, “Aulë used earth, we will use our combined fires.”

Arien still looked doubtful so he reached out for the book and opened it to a page filled with diagrams and drawings about fire properties. Some of them had been devised by him in the early years, others had come following some of his less savoury research with Melkor and some where nonsensical theories he had long discarded but kept anyway. Anticipation brought a wide smile on his face as he led Arien through complex calculations explanations about gravitational and sound waves then resonance. Then immediately stopped when he saw the type of expression on Arien’s face. Fear. Mairon blinked in confusion as she started wringing her hands nervously.

“Is something wrong?”

Arien looked down, sadness flickering through her expression. “It’s nothing but your face Mairon, I've never seen it like that.”

His stomach sank. “How so?”

She looked away but answered him. “In shadows.”

Valinor - 1305 Y.T

‘Mairon, I’m sorry.’

Valinor - 1337 Y.T

“I’ve heard Fëanor is set to become Aulë’s best apprentice.” Aramírë commented as all of the Smith’s Maiar were reunited around the latest creation of the Noldorin Prince. Mairon rolled his eyes then left the room.

Valinor - 1350 Y.T

‘Mairon.’

Valinor - 1362 Y.T

“There’s a new Arafinwëan princess born.” Yavanna informed him as he crouched over roots in her pastures.

“Mhh.” he replied non-committedly, only turning to her when she gently nudged his prostrated form with the tip of her foot.

“You know you could benefit from being nice to Elves.” she gently chided him but Mairon only rolled his eyes.

“I am being nice to Elves, I took one of their eldest sons as an apprentice.”

“It would make a stronger impact if you remembered their names.”

With a sigh he stood up and squeezed her arm.

“I have a selective memory.”

“Mairon!”

Well it certainly wasn’t his fault a lot of them had names starting with ‘Fin’. They truly were making it hard for him to like them.

Valinor - 1367 Y.T

‘Mairon, will you be there when I am released?’

Ruins of Almaren / Island of Grief - 1370 Y.T

“I didn't know Ossë and Uinen rose this from the sea.” Arien’s voice was soft and quiet, on the small island it seemed sacrilegious to speak louder. Mairon had brought his notes again and a pair of thick woollen cloaks they had wrapped around themselves once appearing on the small stretch of earth.

“I’m not sure many know,” he replied with a frown, “He told me he went there after the Trees were grown.”

The earth beneath his feet was tense and angry despite how much time had passed since the cataclysm. For it was but a poor relic of Almaren, their initial dwelling, a small fragment saved by his brother and Uinen, wrenched from the darkness of the deep sea and made into a memorial, a place of bittersweet memories. He did not know why he thought this place should be where they’d finally attempt the Making of Arien’s child, maybe it was because it was the last vestige of a time when both of them had truly been happy, maybe because it was also a place where primaeval powers still pulse, bound forevermore to the confine of Arda. Valinor was beautiful but it was incomplete and tainted. Almaren had been perfect and the light of the Spring of Arda remained in the interstices of its existence.

“Shall we?”

There was no point in dawdling now, they had come all this way to see it through. The new sense of urgency that had bloomed under Mairon’s skin for the past decades kept growing more insistently as the Unchaining crept closer and Melkor’s attempted reach for his mind grew stronger

“Yes.” Arien looked confident, after coming back and forth on her wish she had finally found the blazing determination he knew her for.

“I had a vision I believe,” she had told him once, when tucked away in a secluded part of Yavanna’s Pastures where they had been exchanging lazy kisses under Telperion’s silver glow. “A small being made of bright warm flames crossing the sky and singing beautifully. There was a name but it is gone now.” She did not sound as sad as he expected, instead Arien looked introspective and with a small smirk she had added, “I think it will be a daughter that we will Sing together.”

Mairon had swallowed back another wave of anxiety at the prospect.

But today he felt none of this as both he and Arien turned to face each other, with a last solemn smile they simultaneously removed their raiments, unbound spirits pulsing blindingly bright and warm. Being formless was always a double edged sword as the call of the Timeless Halls’ Music was strongest there but he leaped forward and curled his flames around hers in an intimacy he had never reached with anyone before. For a moment everything stilled and Mairon was remembering the First Theme and its Grandeur, the power of Creation, his Flames carrying the will of Eru Ilúvatar.

Then Mairon and Arien began to Sing.

And through their Song they poured their wills for a new being. Arien Sang about her love and warmth, the gentle caress of the golden light upon morning’s dew, her faith in Arda, the mesmerising endurance of life as flowers bloomed and regrew. Mairon took Arien’s Song and imbued it with the might of his Fires, of that which she desired the most might come forth to them in Arda and that the One took pity on her coveting. Their Song went on and on and culminated in one single note woven through the very matter of Eä, rising in a transcending crescendo.

Something Almighty brushes Its attention on them, in between the fall of that last note and then, nestled in the crook of their mingled flames pulsed a bright little flame and Arien weeped for it was inhabited by a brand new spirit, a small little thing and as it called to them Mairon then realised what he had done.

For beyond the steady little pulse of the infant Maia cradled in their arms, he felt the absence of a piece of himself deep within his spirit, a thin scar in the form of a tiny flame.