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Varnassë - 'Security' or 'Safety' in Quenya.
…
Mairon sighed blissfully, sinking down into the warmth of the bathwater. The steam rose around him, filling his nostrils with the soothing scent of lavender and other unidentified herbs. Sinking in up to his neck, the Maia rested his head on the padded edge of the bath, closing his eyes. He used to not like water much, even though been reasonably clean had always been something he'd aimed for.
That had changed since he'd been given into Lord Námo's keeping.
At the thought of that Vala, Mairon opened his eyes, staring at the brightly painted vaulted ceiling. It was so colourful and cheerful, just like everything else in Mandos. Mairon remembered vividly the horror stories his Master had told him regarding his imprisonment in Mandos. While anything would be better then the Void, Mairon had still being terrified when he'd heard he was to be sentenced to Mandos.
Even though he'd tried showing a brave face (thus preserving what little remnants of dignity he'd been desperately holding onto for so long), he knew he'd failed. The Valar had seen how weak and pathetic he really was; had reduced him to that state themselves with little effort.
It had been what came next that Mairon was still struggling to understand. Instead of ripping his soul apart even more and throwing the remains of his spirit to the Void like he'd been expecting, the Valar had been gentle with him. It was true they had bound his powers, but it was largely for his own protection.
At least, that's what they'd said. Broken he might be, but Mairon was not a fool. He wouldn't have lasted this long if he was.
It didn't take a genius to know they wanted him powerless to resist anything they might decide to do to him. Just as it had always been.
Not that Mairon had any energy or strength left to resist them. Or anything they chose to do to him. His Master had made sure of that after The Failure.
At that thought, Mairon curled up into a ball, desperately breathing in the soothing scent of lavender. While the panic filling his senses was nothing new, not having to deal with it in some dark and hidden corner was.
He knew if he'd wanted, he could even call Lord Námo, and ask the Vala to sing to him until he'd calmed down. However, the thought of doing so filled Mairon with a deep sense of shame at his pathetic weakness. While the Fëanturi and Nienna never belittled him for it, Mairon was painfully aware of his failures. Was painfully aware of how weak he was to resist even a hint of kindness. That was how his Master had swayed him to begin with. And look at how that had ended…
Thankfully, the lavender and whatever other herbs were in the bathwater did the trick; Mairon soon felt his chest lighten so he could breathe freely again. Uncurling, the Maia allowed his body to sink fully under the water, noting it was still as hot as it had been in the beginning. He didn't know how the Vala did it, but Mairon was grateful he didn't have to use cold water. It brought back too many painful memories and emotions.
Subconsciously, Mairon raised one of his hands out of the water to look at it. He managed to ignore the ugly scaring encircling his wrist (iron manacles did not have smooth edges) and focussed on his slightly trembling hand. It was pink and slightly wrinkled from the heat of the water, but otherwise it looked like any hand, if rather thin and paler then normal. A careful inspection of the other one revealed much the same. Placing them both back under the water, Mairon sunk down until only his head (he'd bundled his hair into a pile on top of his head before entering the bath to keep it dry) was above the water.
Mairon had no idea how much time had passed, but he did not worry. Lord Námo had told him to take as long as he needed. The advantages of having two separate sections in the bathhouse. The main one that most of the inhabitants of Mandos used, and this one, which was normally reserved for Lord Námo and Lady Vairë's private use.
Though Mairon was now using it as well, on Lord Námo's insistence. That Vala was something else. Mairon had never met anyone like him. He was so calm and kind, yet stern and no-nonsense. He was never anything but gentle in words and actions towards Mai, which contradicted everything the Maia had ever heard about him.
Then again, from all accounts, his former Master's imprisonment here had been very different from his own.
For one, he was pretty sure the fallen Vala would not have been allowed to soak for hours in Lord Námo's own bath, and then have soft, warm and well-fitted personally-tailored clothes to wear when he finished. When he'd first arrived, wearing only the grungy clothing he'd lived in for the last century, the Lady Vairë had wasted no time in outfitting him for a new wardrobe. Mairon now had a selection of comfortable tunics, tights and robes to choose from. The material was soft on then all, allowing him to even comfortable sleep in them. Though he also possessed several changes of nightgowns solely for that. All the sleeves were long, even the nightgowns, and the high collars of everything hid his scarred throat from view. Yet further evidence they had all been tailor made just for him.
Mairon had never had so many clothes in his life. He had no idea what to do with them all, or why he even needed that many. From experience, he knew one set of clothes would last a while if you were careful. Two was better, as you could wash them on a semi-frequent basis and stay reasonably clean.
The Lady Vairë, however, had apparently decided he needed at least a dozen different sets of clothing. When Mairon had tentatively brought it up with her, not comfortable with taking so many and having so much effort spent on him, she had firmly told him not to be silly. That one could never have too many clothes, and that she enjoyed making them. With no other cause of action available, and not wanting to spurn her kindness, Mairon had had no choice but to accept them. He still hadn't worn most of them though. He had no idea how long he'd been in Mandos for, but did know the nightclothes were more comfortable to sleep in.
And so far, sleeping had been practically all he'd done since arriving here.
Despite that, he was still so tired all the time. The Valar he associated with assured him that wasn't unexpected; that the more sleep he got, the less tired he would gradually become. So far, it wasn't working. But Mairon had learnt long ago not to question what a Vala said without being prepared to deal with the consequences.
And right now, he didn't want to do anything to risk bringing their annoyance and displeasure down on him. While no one had treated him with anything other than kindness (so far), Mairon did not disillusion himself. All that could change on a whim if they pleased. His former Master had been super nice at first as well, even if he had occasionally had an episode. He'd always apologised to Mai after and seemed really upset, so the Maia always let it go. Even as it had began happening more and more frequently, he'd stayed…
Mairon knew he was a mess. Neither his body or mind worked the way they should anymore. They hadn't worked properly ever since Melkor had hurt him so bad. Or even before that, if he was been honest. He'd always known there was something wrong with him. Why else had everyone ignored him, or made his life difficult? Melkor had been the first person to ever accept Mai for what he was, and even that had been a lie.
He'd wanted to use Mai for his own purposes (with no regards to the Maia's own well-being), from the beginning. Just like everyone else. Dimly, Mai wondered why that knowledge hurt so much. That was what he was made for after all.
To be used in whatever way a Vala saw fit.
Even now, Mai knew they were trying to patch him up so he could work for them again. He just hoped the work wouldn't be too hard.
While it was his duty to accept whatever they decided to do to him and thank them for it, Mairon dared hope they would keep being nice. Even when he inevitably failed.
He was used to being a disappointment after all. He just hoped they wouldn't hurt him too bad when it happened.
"How is Mairon going?"
Vairë looked across at her husband, her fingers not stopping nor even pausing in their work. Námo did not often come to see her in her workshops without an invitation. When he did, she knew he needed comfort and reassurance.
"He is going as well as can be expected. Melkor – he really did a number on him. Went as far as to deny him basic life necessities. He – Mairon…he's so scarred, Vairë. Physically, mentally and emotionally. The slightest bit of kindness and humanity has him practically in tears, and then he expects to be punished for showing a glimmer of emotion." Námo rested his head in his hands. "It is marginally better then it was, but he still has such a long way to go. I-I – don't know if…"
Silently, Vairë left her weaving to wrap her arms around her husband's slumped form. She said nothing as she held him, patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts.
"I fear, no matter what I do, Mairon will never heal enough to lead even a semblance of a normal life. I – I fear he is simply too hurt."
Vairë waited until Námo said no more before speaking, her voice soft and warm.
"It has been less then a year, my dear. Not nearly long enough for you to be thinking like this. Mairon spent many Ages in servitude; it will potentially take even longer for him to recover from what he went through. If nothing changes within the next few Ages, you can possibly start thinking like this. Where is Mairon now?"
"Having a bath. I told him to take as long as he needed to. I've noticed he is always a lot more relaxed, and sleeps better, after taking one."
Vairë nodded.
"Being clean does wonder to improve someone's mood. Did you use some of the lavender oil? According to Estë, the aroma helps calm the mind."
"Yes, I did. And I also added a few of the healing herbs. Mairon – still has bruises and raw scars. I have yet to see them all, but he has admitted to them."
Vairë frowned.
"It's unusual for bruises to stick around this long. It's been almost a year since he came to us."
Námo sighed heavily.
"I know. The sooner Estë can examine him again, the better. However, we must take that slowly. It is abundantly clear he does not trust us, and frankly, I don't blame him. After all that has happened to him…he's not stupid. Far from it. he is traumatised though. He's survived on his wits for so long, it's become second nature. Teaching him he is not alone anymore, that he is safe here…is a big task."
"A task I have every confidence you will succeed in, my dear. No matter how long it may take."
Námo sighed, melting into her embrace.
"I sure hope so. Mairon does not deserve what happened. No one does. The fact he thinks it is all his own fault for not being good enough only makes it worse…"
Vairë softly hushed him.
"It is okay, my dearest. He is safe here, whether he realises and accepts that or not. He is also loved, which I am sure he will eventually come to believe. To survive what he has shows a remarkable resilience of spirit. And he did all that alone. He is not alone anymore. It will take time, possibly until the Remaking or beyond, but I have confidence he will heal. He just needs time. Time, and love, and patience."
"And those three things you have plenty of. You are a truly good man, my love. Whether you choose to acknowledge that or not, it's the truth. I know you will be able to eventually help Mairon."
Námo said nothing, hugging her tightly in reply.
The sequel to Óravassë, Redemption Chronicles, is coming. I promise. Part One is in the final editing process, Part Two is written, and I am trying to convince my Demon Plot Bunnies that they are, in fact, capable of writing/finishing Part Three. Please bear with me.