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Melkors hand on his wrist felt bruising as the Vala dragged him along. They were heading to the dungeons, Mairon was reasonably sure about that, so he felt completely within his right to try and dislodge the Valas hold on him.
But as the lights dimmed and torches lessened in number, Mairon felt the unmistakable feeling of dread clawing at him. He still hadn't managed to pull his hand free – even with all his strength he could not hope to hinder Melkor so the relentless tugging was only hurting his own wrist.
“Where are you taking me?” Mairon asked frantically, heart pounding in his chest as he made another attempt to tug his arm out of Melkors grasp.
Unsurprisingly, Melkor didn't budge. The Vala didn't even stumble, it was as if he barely even felt Mairons efforts. His grip remained firm and Mairon eyed the vault in the Valas other hand with increasing worry.
When Melkor continued to stride forward in silence, Mairon dug his heels into the floor as firmly as he could in a desperate attempt to stop the Vala from dragging him down any further. “Melkor!” He screeched, only barely upset about the way his voice cracked.
Either because of his efforts or his shout, Melkor finally stopped and looked back at his Maia. Seeing Mairons face – wide eyed and definitely a few shades paler than before – he was startled to see such terror and loosened his hold on him.
Mairon instantly pulled his hand back and held it close to his chest, rubbing his sore wrist as he backed up against the damp wall. “Where are you taking me?” He repeated with a tremor in his voice he tried to ignore. But his wide eyes and heaving chest gave away his fear.
“To the dungeons. The one with the pit.” Melkor replied casually, as if that had been a completely normal thing to say.
Cold dread shot through Mairons body at the words and for the first time in weeks, he felt the telltale prickle of tears in his eyes. His lip trembled and he wanted so badly to ask Why? but he knew that if he tried to speak, his words would hardly be coherent enough for Melkor to understand.
Seeing the reaction, Melkor was jolted out of his momentary stillness and hastened to explain. “No, no, not like that! I'm going to keep my promise and throw the Silmarils away!” He stepped closer, reaching out his hand again. “I just wanted you there to see and I thought it fitting if they ended up in there because...well, you know. And besides, just because I don't want them anymore doesn't mean anyone else should. So they're going in the pit.”
Still shaking, Mairon sacked against the wall in relief. He had been coming up with all sorts of reasons as to why Melkor was dragging him down here. This, admittedly, had not been one of them. “And why couldn't you just say that instead of grabbing me and dragging me along?!” Mairon questioned and even through the receding panic, he managed a snarl.
“I wasn't dragging you. I was just holding your hand as I went.” Melkor replied with a pout and his brows twitched in the way they always did when he tried to figure out if he'd done anything wrong just to come up with nothing.
“You were absolutely dragging me! You switched up from holding my hand to grabbing my wrist the moment I tried to pull away!” Mairon hissed, eyes flashing. “I have been trying to stop you from walking further into this damp hell hole for the past ten minutes. How did you not notice?!”
At least Mairon had gotten some of his bite back after Melkor had groveled sufficiently. The Vala had also promised high and low that Mairon could do no wrong and he would allow anything. No matter what. So there was no way for Mairon to make a mistake.
And so far, Melkor had kept himself to those promises religiously. No matter what Mairon threw at him, he never retaliated.
So obviously, the logical reaction to that was for Mairon to test out how firmly Melkors word would hold. He pushed any and all boundaries he knew as aggressively as he dared because he needed to see it. Mairon needed to know if Melkor was being truthful and so he would push and push and when Melkor would inevitably lash out he would know.
But so far, it had been weeks upon weeks of constant disrespect towards Melkor and the Vala had done nothing about Mairons growing impertinence.
He had thought Melkors patience had ended when the Vala had dragged him down the stairs to the dungeons, but apparently Mairon had been sorely mistaken about that.
Melkor had yet to even so much as complain. He hadn't done so when Mairon continuously stole his blankets, brazenly perched on the Valas throne and even locked him out of their (Melkors) chambers to reorganize the interior. Mairon hadn't dared to push anything regarding the Silmarils, but everything else had been fair game so far.
So the longer Melkor continued to allow him to do as he pleased, the more Mairons confidence returned.
Although, some of that initial fear still remained. Clinging to him with cold fingers and making him flinch at the sound of splashing water. Trips to the dungeons to torment the thralls were also significantly less fun when the mere sound of rattling chains had him trembling violently.
There were also the nightmares – but those only applied to people who decided to sleep. And Maia didn't exactly need sleep every night. So Mairon just...didn't. Whenever he could. However long he could.
Until Melkor coaxed him into resting with gentle words and offers of staying awake himself to watch over the Maia.
Now, the Vala looked as guilty as a chastised child. His shoulders sagged and he lowered his eyes to stare intently at the ground. “I didn't...notice that.” He mumbled, looking dejected. Even more quietly, almost whispering, he added: “...sorry.”
He almost looked like he was sulking.
As his heart finally returned to a normal pace, Mairon only grumbled about unfair Valarin strength and pushed off of the wall to glue himself to Melkors side. He pushed his face into the soft furs near Melkors chest and shuddered pleasantly when he felt Melkors arm wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer.
Mairon all but soaked up the Valas warmth, even through his thick clothes. Furred coats and winter boots had long since replaced elegant fabrics and dark armor. Better to be warm than alluring or intimidating.
Gently hugging his Maia closer, Melkor eyed the vault in his other hand with nervous eyes. “Do you...want to watch?” He asked, dragging his eyes back to Mairons face.
Mairon weighed his options carefully in his head. To go with Melkor would mean going there, but not going with him would mean uncertainty. And that would torment him until he went to check for himself if Melkor had truly discarded the jewels.
Confrontation was the best remedy, no?
“I'll go.” Mairon agreed after a long moment of silence. “But you're not allowed to let go of me. Ever. Not as long as we're down there. And I want a long, comfortable lava bath after. At least three hours.” He bargained and when Melkor agreed easily, they continued to make their way further down.
True to his word, Melkor kept his arm firmly wrapped around Mairon and even increased his body temperature as their surroundings cooled.
Nervously taking in the pitch black walls, plain support pillars and scarce torches, Mairon felt nauseous just looking at the mold growing in the creases of the damp stones. “Why did you even build this?” He asked at last when curiosity overtook him.
He could not fathom why Melkor would need something like this if not for punishing fire spirits specifically.
“I thought it would be efficient for torture.” Melkor replied calmly, pushing open yet another heavy door to the next, even more damp, staircase. Now there was even water dripping down from the ceiling.
Mairon didn't want to know where that came from. He just pressed himself closer to his Valas warmth. “It's efficient alright.” He grumbled with a shiver and flinched when a drop of ice cold water dripped onto his head. Instinctively, he ducked further under Melkors arm and began to nervously pick at his sleeves.
“It was never meant for you.” Melkor argued.
“Then who did you make it for? Surely you must have known none of your fire spirits would go down here willingly. Even as much as the other Umaiar like your darkness, I don't think even they would enjoy a prolonged stay in here.” Mairon took in the surrounding darkness with increasing nervousness. He felt twitchy and couldn't shake the feeling that this had been a bad idea after all. That he should have ran back upstairs and hidden somewhere warm and dry.
Melkor just shrugged in response. “I really didn't think about it that way. All I thought of when I added this part of the dungeons to your design was a new torture method – for elves though. They love their light and Vardas stars and we've observed many times how those who are kept in darker parts of he fortress expire faster.”
It was almost a reasonable explanation, but then again, Melkors decisions had always been heavily impacted by his mood.
“Did you ever use them? Before you threw me in there?” Mairon whispered, hands fisting in Melkors robes as though he was afraid the Vala would disappear. Or go away. Or leave him here.
“I never really got around to it.” Melkor replied casually, tilting his head as though in thought. “And I don't think anyone else went down here either.”
“Wonder why...” Mairon grumbled with a scowl just as they reached another set of door. This one looked almost familiar – it's shape was slightly different from the ones before. It was larger and looked almost eroded from long exposure to moisture.
With little ceremony, Melkor shoved the doors open with his foot – both of his hands were occupied, so a kick would suffice. The heavy doors flew open, hitting the wall on either side and rebounding from the force before screeching to a halt halfway to closed.
Mairon would have called it unnecessary flare if his breath hadn't gotten caught in his throat at the sight of the dark pit inside the room. The few torches that decorated the walls – and even fewer of them that continued to burn – illuminated the darkness just enough that Mairon could catch the waters reflections.
His heart was beating just a fraction too fast, but Melkor was still there. Still holding him. Still warm and not pushing him away.
When Melkor began to walk forward, Mairons feet would not do the same. He stood frozen, staring at the waters surface as his hands trembled. He remembered how cold the water was – how frigid and how it burned in his open wounds. Glancing up he could even see the broken chain dangling from the ceiling.
This time, Melkor noticed his Husbands apprehension and paused. “If you'd like, you could stay here at the entrance while I go and drop them. Or I could just...throw them from here?” The Vala offered, the thumb of his hand rubbed soothingly along Mairons arm.
But the Maia shook his head. “No – I want...I want to see. Just give me a moment.”
Uncommonly patient, Melkor waited for several long minutes. Letting Mairon set the pace as they walked into the room. A few feet away from the pits edge, Mairon stopped. He would not go any further – the water was fully within sight now and he had no intentions of stepping closer than he had to.
Next to him, Melkor was fumbling with the vault. He had set it to the ground and was working on getting it open with just his left hand – his right was still draped over Mairons hip as he had promised. The Maias lips twitched into a small smile at that.
Eventually, the vault opened and the bright glow of the Silmarils embedded in the crown illuminated the darkness. The sight still made Mairon uneasy – Melkor had kept them inside the vault ever since the night he had apologized to Mairon and the Maia had been glad for their absence.
He couldn't wait for this to be over. But more than that...he wanted to see if Melkor would – if he could do it.
With the crown in his hand, Melkor stood up. He was rigid in a way he rarely ever was and his eyes were fixed on the too bright light. The Vala continued to stare until it became clear it was actively causing him pain. Only then did he manage to avert his gaze to look at his Husband.
Seeing the look in Melkors eyes was worrying – not because it was malicious, but because Melkor wasn't really looking at him. It was as though he couldn't see clearly and he more than likely could not. It was dark in the dungeon and staring at a light this bright was bound to leave him blinded for a while.
Still, Melkor tightened his grip on the crown, denting the metal, and for a moment Mairon was sure he would go back on his word.
Mairon felt the moment Melkor nudged at their bond – feeling out Mairons emotions and no doubt noticing the Maias growing fear. It was almost unfair how easily and how much the Vala could actually see into Mairons mind without actually treading inside. Mairon didn't have the same advantage, a Valas mind was far more difficult to grasp and see than a Maias.
With a look of determination in his eyes, Melkor drew back his arm and threw the crown into the pit. The sound of it as it was swallowed by the water made Mairon flinch, but he didn't take his eyes off of it as it sunk and neither did Melkor.
The light continued to sink and sink...and sink even further.
“How deep is that thing?!” Mairon snarled and turned to Melkor. “Were you digging up one of the fucking nameless things? Are you mad? Why did you make it that deep?! And what business did you have throwing me in there? What if the chain had snapped and I would have sunken that low?!” Mairon screeched and gestured hysterically to the slowly fading light.
Melkor looked away guilty. “I wasn't – I didn't think... about that...” But he was thinking about it now and the thought of his Little Flame being pulled into the depths of the water...and with the potential of a nameless thing at the bottom -
“You know what.” Melkor started suddenly. “I think I'll just...shove some lava in it until it grows solid. Maybe I really should just close that up, it's not like anyone's ever going to use it again.”
“Good choice and just for the record – you think far too little for someone so smart.” Mairon hissed, voice trembling as he wormed his way deeper into Melkors coat. “I wanna go back up. There's barely any light left to see now anyways.” The Maias eyes could perceive only the barest shimmer in what was apparently the extremely deep bottom of the water.
Nodding, Melkor swiftly turned them around and they made their way back up without incident. The growing number of torches and lack of dampness was doing wonders for Mairons nerves, as did the certainty that he really was more important to Melkor than anything else.
The confirmation had him grinning ear to ear by the time they reached the top of the stairs. His husband had put him above the Silmarils. Forever. Hopefully.
As soon as the heavy doors opened, they were greeted by Kala who had been sniffing the edge of the dungeons entrance nervously. When they had entered, the wolf had resolutely refused to follow them and she was all the more happy to see them for it.
The wolf all but jumped on Mairon and the Maia easily caught her. Instantly burying his fingers in her soft, warm fur they made their way to the promised lava bath.
It would forever amaze Mairon how Melkor had managed to make a wolf that could join them in the scorching hot liquid.
“Thank you...” Mairon mumbled into Melkors chest as they sat in the bubbling lava. The Maias hair was glowing, drawing in the warmth from around them. “I didn't think you'd actually do it.”
Melkor would his arms around Mairons shoulders to pull him closer. “Of course...and I... I'm surprised I did it too, but I don't regret it. Somehow, it feels like I threw away some terrible weight.” He explained and nosed at Marion's fiery hair, thoroughly enjoying the soft, warm strands.
He didn't mention the gnawing feeling in the depths of his mind that longed for the Jewel's, but it made him all the more certain he should have done this long ago.