Chapter Text
Before the world was made, Illuvatar, the great father, showed a vision of what it could be. He showed a world full of beauty and power. A world full of change and excitement. That world was so different than the formless existence of energies and auras that he and his first children inhabited.
He invited the children who wanted to become a part of that bright new world to help him sing it into existence. They rose into song with him and wove their love and loyalties into the Great Song.
One sang apart. He, like all of Illuvatar’s children, was a reflection of Illuvatar himself. He was the ambition, love of strength, and shear power of Illuvatar. And he was chief in ability among the children. He, like his father, wanted to create and oversee, so that is what he sang. But, Illuvatar made it clear that he was the only lord father this world needed and that the child would remember who that lord father was. The child heeded his warning but thought thereafter on how he could become the lord he thought he deserved to be.
His mind settled on the Sacred Flame. He determined this thing his father spoke often of was the source of his power. He would find and posses this Sacred Flame and then things would be the way his mind knew to be truth.
All the while, others prepared themselves to journey down to this promised world, unaware of their brother’s intentions. He begun his search. He searched and searched but to no avail. After he traveled deep into the great nothing of the Void, far from the light of his father, his mind began to work differently. The eternal emptiness and lack of time nearly drove him mad, or perhaps it did. But as he resigned himself to the black, he saw a glimmer, so small he had nearly missed it. Home.
When finally he returned home, his father held him. And for the last time, he loved his father more than himself. For when he pulled away at last, he saw the flame within Illuvatar. He felt bitter and betrayed. He had suffered, and instead of recognizing that it was his own doing, he charged Illuvatar as the cause.
And soon after, the children left. They took hope with them to the new world and he took hate. But they all arrived to the same desolate plain. The vision they had been shown was yet to be created, for that was their task.
...
Mairon had no knowledge of Illuvatar’s greatest son, or his hardship. But he did remember arriving on Arda for the first time.
He remembered gathering to view what their father had been working on. Though he was small and unimportant compared to his greatest siblings, Mairon remembered pushing at the bodies of the valar, trying to move them aside to glimpse Illuvatar's plan. To mold a window in the crowd to catch one look at this amazing world they could go to. It was magnificent. Moving, pulsing, ever changing. Somehow it seemed bright and dark at the same time. He wanted in this place. To be a part of it. To change it and move with it.
He recalled arriving to a dark, barren place. His first thought was that some how there had been a mistake. Where was this beautiful world they had been promised? The movement and power that coursed through the vision they had seen. Could that have been a lie? The others seemed only slightly disheartened and begun to toil at the slow construction of the future they all had glimpsed.
Now, there were stars to light the sky. There were plants and animals. There were vast waters and tall mountains. Mairon had had no part in that. He didn’t have the power to create such majesty. He was told to stay with the other lesser beings and keep to their own musings until they were called on. And he did as he was told.
Mairon felt that had been unfair, he wanted to be important too. However, he had no idea how to remedy his misgivings. So, he decided that he would make sure he would never be grouped in with others who were “less powerful”. He would stand out as something special. Stand out as something More.
After much hard work, Mairon felt vindicated when the Valar returned and saw he had made himself the leader of the others. But he hadn’t stopped with merely leading weaker beings, Mairon had made adornments for the Valar out of ore that he had melted with his own power. He had carefully shaped them in the forms of the things “Becoming” around him. Some were long necklaces of metal flowers and leaves, while others were of stars or feathers. Each was a masterpiece gleaming in the twilight. Mairon missed having them once he gifted his creations. But more so, he was pleased. For he found that they loved his gifts. And his gifts and strength gave him exactly what he wanted.
Aule called out before any others that he wished for Mairon. Aule was strong and grand and Mairon was happy to be claimed by him. Mairon was proud. He had never felt so fulfilled as when Aule reached out his hand to him and asked that Mairon stay by his side and take part in all his creations.
All together, the Valar and Maiar settled on an island in a vast inland lake and begun to make a place for themselves. They moved huge stones, carved deep into the earth, and rose great towers and soon, they had built a great city. It was a gratifying task, and Mairon enjoyed how he could finally be useful. He built his own home beside the others. He laid down stones from the stream in front of his door to join his path with the theirs. He enjoyed belonging to this growing and changing community.
Then they rested. For a short time, Mairon was content. But then he felt rested enough and was eager to continue developing the new world. But the others were happy to continue to bask under the stars and in the springs. He tried to follow suit but could not find enjoyment in relaxation.
After what, to Mairon, could have been ages, some of the others finally began to stir. But never again with the same energy they had to make their first city.
Now, Mairon walked slowly, through the dim, to the forge. It was a pale imitation of the light and power that he had seen in the vision from Illuvatar. Though he had found nothing closer thus far. Aule was full of energy, and a need to create. Mairon also felt these things. But he started to notice a difference between them. Aule would create something and feel no attachment, no "deep feeling" for it.
Mairon had thought many hours on these "deep feelings". They were like a need, and a fondness. An emptiness that was somehow full of something. Need was as close as he had gotten to describing these "deep feelings". When he had confronted Aule about them, the smith had no idea what he meant. Deflated, Mairon had not broached the subject again.
As he tore himself from thought, Mairon chanced a look into the eyes of another as he passed them on the path to the forge. His heart ached as his worries were, once again, confirmed. The "deep feelings" were not reflected in their eyes. He checked every pair of eyes. None held the "need" that he felt.
Finally, Mairon drug his feet into the boundaries of the forge. His clothes and face were bathed in the warm light. Closing his eyes, Mairon let himself be embraced by the heat of the fire. He had found the forge to hold a similar "need". If the fires were not fed, they would cool and eventually fail, going dark and still. The only proof that they had lived at all were the ashes they left behind. They Needed to burn, or die.
He would now fill the emptiness with power.
He stoked the fires, building them hot and high. Creating made his feelings race through the empty spaces inside him. Molding, changing, creating. He lived for this. Each item he forged to be forever his, to be held tight against his heart.
Time continued forward, unrelenting. Aule was constantly working on the Two Lamps, a project Mairon was not allowed to be a part of. Rejected, lonely, and unfulfilled, Mairon toiled away at nothing important. He had wanted to be a part of this world, to change it and move with it. But as time trudged on, Importance seemed to not be a role Mairon was meant for. The "deep feelings" had started to change, becoming sour and stale. They had bittered and become an unpleasant weight in his chest. Now each step was heavier. He worked harder to achieve less. Was this all their fates? Was this all he was meant for?
Mairon was ripped from his thoughts by the sounds of urgent, hushed voices outside the forge. Apparently some other Maia had heard from their masters of a growing power, dark and threatening. Mairon had heard these rumors too. Aule had spoken several times, to others of course, about their lost brother and his twisted path. Mairon himself didn't know much about Melkor. Only that he was very strong and that he had disappeared twice from the sight of his brothers only to return darker and more twisted each time.
“Now he threatens all we have built!" one of them says softly.
Mairon stifled a snort. "All we have built"? The bitterness of his "deep feelings" burned the back of his throat and left a bad taste in his mouth. He would gladly step aside and let Melkor destroy this stagnant place so they might start again.
Surprised at himself, Mairon blinked at the violence of his thoughts and ceased his eavesdropping. He should work on this negativity and try to be more like Aule.
...
There it was again.
A feeling that he was not the only being in the forge. This was the fifth time in as many visits. Everytime before this one he had turned quickly, trying to located the source of this unnerving feeling. To his dismay, the feeling disappeared each time as quickly as he turned.
Mairon decided to not let it be known that he sensed his watcher. He merely braided his hair, as was his habit, before dawning his gloves and apron. To his sly delight, the feeling did not dissipate. His watcher had stayed, most likely convinced that Mairon had not noticed them.
Hours had passed and the feeling of being watched had not. Mairon tried his best to seem normal, going on about his usual tasks. He cleaned his anvil and his various hammers. He stoked the fires, putting the hottest coals on the left. He filled the barrel with cool water to temper his metals. He made sure to take a painstaking about of time going through his previous works. Mairon wanted his stalker to view his masterful skill. Eventually, he begun work on his newest creation.
Hearing all of the danger that was coming, Mairon had decided to construct clothes made of metal to defend against attacks. The project had been very rewarding thus far. Each new challenge was a joy to solve and overcome. Soon, Mairon had lost himself in his work. Figuring out how to make metal clothes that moved with their wearer proved exceedingly difficult. Each rivet was new, each hammer stroke led to something that had never been made. All of these things were his and his alone. He revelled in this ownership, a habit Aule tried and fail to break him of.
"Do not turn around."
A deep voice whispered from the darkness behind Mairon.
He froze. Hammer half way through a down stroke. Wide eyed, Mairon kept still. The voice sounded new and unused. He remembered his voice was that way the first few times he spoke with the lips of his newly acquired form, back when they first arrived on Arda. But Mairon's voice did not carry the weight of this one. It was deep like a pool of water that went so far into the ground it had gone black. Vast like the view from the summit of a mountain, and dark like the shadow a mountain casts. The new voice spoke again.
"Do you know of the lamps?"
The voice inquired. It was as if warm red wine was being poured over his skin. Silk words weaving through his hair to caress his ears.
"Yes, my Lord."
Mairon unintentionally addressed the voice as he would his master, ‘Lord’. Slowly, Mairon lowered his hammer and straightened. He ached to turn and see who the voice belonged to. Who could hold so much power with just their voice? It felt like a predator was at his back. Though he knew the man stood several paces from him, Mairon felt as if the Master of this voice was close enough to touch the bare skin on the back of his neck. He stifled a shudder, and silently cursed himself for wearing a side braid.
"You will tell me everything I wish."
A smile was woven into the words this time. Mairon could not help but agree inwardly, barely catching the reply of submission behind his lips.
"Will I?"
Mairon forced a weak response. More asking permission than showing resistance.
Time seemed to slow as Mairon felt only a small movement in the air, barely enough to move the loose strands of his hair. That was all that announced the keeper of the voice was now at Mairon's ear. Cool lips brushed the shell of his ear, speaking softly with the power of a thousand forges and the depth of the sky passed the stars.
"For me, you will do anything."
Knees almost giving way, Mairon breathlessly nodded. How was this possible? Mairon held on to the side of the anvil to steady himself. He had to know what this force was. Who could hold the power of all that he had glimpsed in the vision that Illuvatar had shown them so long ago, in his voice alone.
"Please..."
Mairon pleaded with only breath.
"Tell me who you are."
A soft chuckle rolled sensually off the lips next to his ear .
"Do you not know?"
Mairon bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. The sensations were overwhelming. He could feel the power coming off this man in waves, pounding against him, sparking like lightning. It could be no one else, but Mairon could not admit this to himself. He would not be undone so quickly by this being whom so many had called the Enemy.
"Melkor."
He whispered so softly that he himself could not hear. He felt the Valar straighten and noted how much taller and grander he must be. Gathering every bit of strength he had, Mairon turned quickly to put a form to the voice which already haunted him.