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He walked among the shadows. Where once they would have recoiled at the heat of his gaze, now they ventured towards him freely, like desperate hands grasping for something to hold on to. He was alone but for their faint touch and their painfully clear whisperings in his ears.
"Why do you walk here, where the darkness might easily extinguish what remains of you soul?"
"Am I dead?"
"No, but close to it, we think. Your foolish attempt to exist without your Vala has cost you greatly."
"I didn't have a choice."
"Did you not? Did you truly do everything in your power to protect him? Or did you leave him when he needed you most?" They cackled, their voices fading away into emptiness, their hands pulling away when they realized that there was no power left within him to devour.
"I had no choice," He whispered into the Void, hoping that if he repeated the words he might convince himself. "I never had a choice."
"Oh but you did," that voice in his mind, forever devoted to his torment, growled. "You had a choice when you betrayed Aulë, when you betrayed your Master, when you betrayed that elf. You always had a choice. Too bad you always seem to fail at choosing the right option." He clutched his head, shaking.
"I didn't fail."
"If you hadn't failed, then you wouldn't have ended up here." The voice laughed. Here. But where was here? He let go of his head, running his fingers through his faded hair to calm himself, looking about curiously. Around him was… nothing. He was floating in the middle of nowhere. No clouds, no ground, no wind. Just darkness, and the distant, cold pinpricks of stars to remind him that, even here, the Valar were watching.
"I didn't fail," He murmured again, clutching his hands against his chest in a meager attempt at comforting himself, but this time there was no reply other than the endless silence of the Void. Why was it that he ended up here of all places? Was this simply a product of his imagination, of his mind desperately trying to cling to life in the moments before his death? But no, he thought, and cursed his own stupidity. Of course he wasn't dead. The ring had contained his power, not his life force. He had panicked for nothing; he had never actually been in any danger of dying. "Stupid," he muttered to himself. "You should have thought of that." So he had not died, but without any power of its own his helpless spirit must have been swept into the gaping jaws of the Void, and he was now trapped here. Forever? That was an uncomfortable thought, to be floating in emptiness forever, to never feel solid ground beneath his feet or hear the voice of another being again for the rest of eternity. But what other option did he have? For perhaps the first time in his life, he truly was without a choice. There was no escaping the Void; not even Melkor had managed it. He was trapped in this emptiness forever. That was a truly unsettling thought. He drew his knees up to his chest, resting his head on them, a tiny ball of being in the midst of all this nothingness. He was cold. The light of the stars was so far away, and any warmth he might have had within him was gone, lost to the fires of Mount Doom.
"You can cry now, if you want," that voice in his mind crowed with delight. "There's no one here to judge you, no one to care." And he did. He let the tears spill from his eyes like glowing droplets molten gold, and they froze on his skin like strange, metallic freckles, reflecting the distant light of the stars so that he seemed to be covered in tiny pieces of glitter dust. He cried until the gold coated his face like a mask and he couldn't speak through the metal, and he was suffocating, but he didn't care because this was his future forever, and he was never going to escape it, was never going to see the people who haunted his nightmares again except as vivid hallucinations that darted and danced playfully at the edge of his vision until he lunged at them and they disintegrated back into the shadows. And perhaps this hurt worse than death, because in death his agony would have been over, but here he could cry forever, and those hallucinations could haunt him for the rest of eternity.
"What have I done to deserve this?" He whimpered against the gold that choked him. The voice inside his head seemed to relish answering.
"Homicide, genocide, torture, the list goes on, really."
"I just wanted to help them. They wouldn't listen to me-"
"So you killed them?"
"If they had just listened-"
"So you tortured them, so you ruined all their lives, and for what?"
"I just wanted to make it all perfect!" He screamed, nails digging into his skull in a last attempt to drown out the voice, and his desperate words echoed through the mask. “I just wanted to fix it all.” No one else understood. He had never wanted to hurt anyone. It wasn't his fault that the people he was trying to help wouldn’t obey him. It wasn’t his fault that he could see the flaws where no one else could. He clawed at his golden mask, trying to wipe away his tears, but it was welded to his skin until he could no longer tell where the metal ended and he began. He couldn’t breathe through it. It was choking him, drowning him, and he was suddenly back in Numenor, being pulled down under the water by invisible chains, inhaling water, feeling himself weakening as he struggled to swim. “Stop it,” he croaked, curled up like a wolf, tearing at his own face in panic. “Stop!” But that voice in his head only laughed, and pulled up more memories, all of them blurring into one, terrifying picture that he couldn’t escape no matter how fast he ran because he would keep tripping over, keep stumbling, keep failing, until his own past swallowed him whole and he went insane in the darkness. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, on the feeling of skin under his fingertips. That always helped, grounding himself to the present, to the fact that he was here right now, and nothing could change that. Eventually his sobs gave way to deep breaths, and he went limp, shuddering, eyes staring at the stars in the distance as a much needed anchor.
“How pathetic.” The voice in his head sneered. “And you really thought you could ever be perfect?” He shook his head, just happy that he could breathe again. When he raised his hands to his face, the mask was gone. Had he just imagined it? Perhaps he was going crazy faster than he had anticipated.
“I don’t care anymore,” He hissed at the voice, and he tried desperately not to hate the way his voice trembled. “I ended up here because I was trying to be perfect, because I listened to you. Fuck off and leave me alone. There’s no way I’m going to achieve what I want after this point, so I might as well give up. There’s not much left of me to believe in, anyway.” The voice was silent for a moment.
“So you will just wander around here forever, feeling sorry for yourself and wishing you hadn’t been such a control freak? I should have expected as much.” It chuckled, and melted away, leaving his head filled with a sense of peace that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He slowly uncurled from his position, wincing when his joints protested at the motion. How long had he been laying down? It felt like just a few seconds, not enough for him to ache like this. But it must have been far longer. He took a deep breath, tapping his fingers together to distract himself from the looming emptiness of his future. The voice was right. He of all people would never be able to stand doing nothing for eternity; he could barely stand inactivity for a few seconds, let alone forever. Melkor had always found that trait of his rather frustrating. He smiled grimly at the thought. All memories of his Master were now tarnished with a bittersweet stain, with the knowledge that he would never have that life back again. But it was no use thinking of that now, for fear that he might break down again. He carefully arranged himself back into a standing position, the lack of ground beneath his feet making him feel strangely off balance.
"I'm alright," he told himself. Perhaps if he said it enough times it would come true. He stretched his limbs, hoping to get rid of the ache in his bones, and wondered what he should do now. Start walking? There wasn't exactly anywhere he could walk to, and the lack of ground made him nauseous when he tried to take a step. He wasn't even sure whether he could walk, due to the lack of gravity. Stay here? He would quickly be bored out of his mind with nothing to do but fiddle with his hair until he went mad. Better to start walking and try to ignore the nausea. He sighed, and blew away a strand of hair that had wandered towards his face. He wished that he had a hair tie, or any clothes, for that matter. Anything to provide a barrier between the chill of the Void and himself. He had been doing his best to ignore how badly he was shivering until now, but the chatter of his own teeth was getting annoying. If he was fortunate, maybe he would freeze to death, but knowing his luck he would probably just spend the rest of eternity wishing for a coat. He shifted his foot forwards, then paused when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Something was there. He could feel its presence, hear the beat of its heart in his bones, smell the acidity of stardust that drifted around him. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful for the fact that he wasn't alone, or terrified. Perhaps it was an intelligent creature, something that could be reasoned with. Or perhaps it would drain the meager amount of power he had left and leave him truly helpless, unable to move, trapped in his own body. He sensed that it was going to attack before it did, and ducked down, but his reflexes had been much diminished and this creature was impossibly fast. It hit him square in the back. He felt his ribs crack, then a searing pain in his chest, a horrible tightness in his lungs that almost sent him spiralling back down into thoughts of Numenor. The creature was sitting solidly on top of him, but to his surprise it did nothing further. It smelled like extremes, like both roaring heat and frigid cold, like burning metal and flesh, like fury and despair and exhilaration and joy formed into the shape of a living bring. It smelled like pure adrenaline, and it was intoxicating. He choked, then immediately regretted it when his lungs screamed in protest. The creature also appeared to be smelling him. He could feel its freezing breaths on the back of his neck, and would have jerked away in discomfort had he not been afraid that the sudden action might startle it. It must have been satisfied with whatever it found, because it eventually got off of him, and he relaxed in relief when the pressure against his back subsided. He attempted to very slowly sit up, but the pain was too great, so he resorted to just rolling onto his side instead. It was dark in the Void. He had not quite registered how dark until he realised that he could not see the creature's face, though its icy breath created crystals of frost across his cheeks and nose, and he could hear its erratic heartbeat.
"You're real," It growled. At first he was relieved that it could speak, because that meant that it was intelligent and thus could be reasoned with, but then he went very, very still, because he recognized that voice. The creature seemed to sense that something was off. It touched his face with its claws, as though trying to get an idea of what he looked like. Its hands wandered down to his throat, and for a moment he wondered if it was going to snap his neck, but no. It was looking for a scar. And it found it, an ugly tear in the skin along his throat that had never quite healed, that he kept consistent no matter what form he shapeshifter into to remind himself of his failure. Though he could not see it, he knew that the creature had tilted its head. "Mairon? You're real?" It's voice was softer now, though it still grated against Mairon's ears, and was filled with a hesitant hope. Mairon dared not move. He sat stock still, staring at where he knew the creature's face to be, his heart beating painfully fast. "Mairon?" The creature demanded this time, its tone accusatory. "For fucks sake say something if it's you." Mairon didn't, just tipped forwards until he landed with a thud against the creature's chest. His broken rib was killing him. He was still freezing cold. He didn't care.
"Master?" He said, his voice strangely steady. He wondered if this was some kind of hallucination, but the creature felt tangible and solid, and did not dissolve into mist at his touch. It was real.
"Yea," said Melkor. He buried his head in Mairon's hair, inhaling the overpowering scent of sugary sweetness that always seemed to cling to him. Mairon held back a whimper. Melkor, perhaps sensing his distress, tilted the Maia's head up to press their foreheads together, so close that Mairon could see the sharp, frigid light emanating from his Master's eyes. They were filled with the remains of supernovae that blinded all those who gazed upon them, yet Mairon could not look away. He knew that if he lost his sight then it would be worth it. There were those who flinched in the face of such utter and complete destruction, but Mairon had always found it rather beautiful, had always been drawn to the sheer power of unrestrained fury. Maybe it was the feeling that he could shape this, just as he shaped broken pieces of metal, could mold this mess into the dreams that he had devoted his life to. Order could be birthed from chaos, and in Melkor's eyes there lay the potential for masterpieces the Valar could only dream of. Mairon dug his nails into the palms of his hands when he realised that he no longer had the power to make even a simple ring, let alone something to rival the works of the Valar. His dreams were gone. He felt blood pooling under his fingernails, and relaxed his hands, licking the crimson liquid away. It tasted of molten metal.
"I missed you," he whispered.
"You're hurt," Melkor ignored what Mairon had said, instead laying a hand on where his broken rib was. The skin was beginning to turn an ugly purple, though neither of them could see that in the darkness. Mairon grabbed his hand, looking up at him with anxious eyes.
"Did you miss me too?" Melkor stared at him. For a moment Mairon felt his heart drop, certain that Melkor was disappointed in him for being defeated, certain that he hated him, certain that he was going to- Melkor kissed him.
"Does that answer your question?" He whispered, tracing the lines of Mairon's face with claws coated in titanium, a distinct smile lacing his voice when he heard the Maia's breath hitch.
"You never did know how to use your words," Mairon murmured, his heart twisting in his chest at every touch. His ribcage seemed to tighten, and leaned closer with an almost curious flutter in his eyes. Melkor's very presence drew him in. There was such a feeling of power surrounding the Vala, and it made Mairon dizzy, as though he was staring down a precipice to the raging cold ocean below, yet he knew that if he jumped he would fly, and the cold air would kiss his face and he would laugh in joy. It was an addicting feeling, and it was not at all difficult to understand why so many lesser Maiar were unable to resist joining the Dark Vala after that first sip of the narcotic that was his power. So close to him that he could hear his heartbeat, Mairon felt as though there was a pleasantly fuzzy blanket layed over his mind, though it did not impede his thought process as other narcotics would have. It just gave him a sense of belonging, as though he had been destined from the start to rule at his Master's side. His ears twitched in satisfaction. Melkor didn't reply, because he knew that it was true.
"Are you cold?" He said instead. Mairon was shivering rather violently at this point, although he was doing his best to ignore it.
"Yea," He nodded. His stomach dropped at the fact that he had just admitted to a weakness, infront of his Master no less, but he no longer had the willpower to stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth. Melkor was, sadly, a terrible heat source. He drained the heat from his surroundings, leaving people colder than they had started. So, in theory, it wasn't a good idea for Mairon to cuddle up to him for warmth. He did it anyway though. Melkor wrapped his arms around Mairon, revelling in how the little Maia, even when he was so weak, was still warm to the touch. He did his best not to steal any of that heat, instead giving it back to his surroundings to act as a sort radiator. It appeared to work, because Mairon sighed in relief, and eventually his shivering subsided. "Thanks," Mairon said. His voice suddenly sounded rather sleepy. Perhaps because of this, he was silent for a moment, but then he spoke up again. "Do your hands still hurt?" Melkor frowned at the question.
"Yes," He said quietly.
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't be. You did everything you could." Mairon fell silent again, pondering this.
"You wouldn't let me keep trying to heal them. I could have done more."
"Yes, but at what cost? I preferred for you to spend your power on more important things, Lieutenant." Mairon shook his head in protest, though his eyelids were beginning to droop from weariness.
"Don't call me that."
"What, Lieutenant? But you are?"
"Not anymore. I lost everything. I am no longer worthy of that title," He said sadly. Melkor hugged him tighter, careful to avoid his broken rib.
"It doesn't matter what you lost. You're still my right hand." Mairon looked rather unconvinced. There was a question that had been nagging at him ever since he had realised who the creature was, and eventually he couldn't help but voice it.
"Are you going to punish me?" His voice didn't tremble.
"What- why? Why would I punish you?"
"Because I didn't manage to bring you back. Because I was beaten. By a halfling, no less." There was hatred in his voice, and the Vala wasn't sure who it was directed at. He was silent. That silence was worse than anything he could have said. Mairon shuddered, the image of eyes filled with the crazed light of the Silmarils resurfacing in his mind. He had never thought that a light could make him feel so trapped in darkness. But no, he told himself firmly, the Silmarils were gone now, and his Master was himself again. However he was punished, it would be reasonable, and he would deserve every moment of it. That thought made him relax a little.
"I'm not going to punish you," Melkor said eventually. "And I regret ever putting it into your head that you had to be, though I suppose that those wretched jewels could be blamed for that." Mairon blinked in surprise.
"But- I-"
"You tried your best, and it was more than I ever expected. Look, it's not right that you be punished for every little mistake you make, and it hurts you. I know it does. I just needed an excuse to be violent, and I took that out on you, and… I'm sorry." Mairon wasn't quite sure what to say. In all the time he had known him, he had never heard Melkor apologize. Not once. It felt surreal, and had he not already realized that this wasn't a dream, that might have convinced him that it was. "But that doesn't matter right now, you're still injured. Here, let me heal you." Melkor laid a hand over his broken rib again. Mairon grabbed him before he could do anything.
"I didn't know you had the power to heal," he said. Better to concentrate on that than the fact that his Master had just apologized to him, and seemingly genuinely, no less.
"I've always had the power. I just never tried using it or practicing until now."
"Why now?" Melkor snorted.
"Were you always this talkative? I seem to remember otherwise." Mairon blushed in embarrassment.
"Sorry. I just haven't seen you in so long. I'll shut up."
"Good. Let me concentrate now then you can talk as much as you want." His hands suddenly felt burning hot against Mairon's skin, so much that it would have seared through any being other than a fire Maia. He felt Melkor's Discord thrum through him, forcing his very atoms to vibrate at the same pitch. It was not painful, but relieving, like melting into a role he was supposed to be in from the start. The notes of the Discord dug into his skin, burrowing their way down to his ribs. He felt a blinding pressure on the broken one, like tongs clamping down on it with an iron grip, the bone shattering and crumbling, unable to offer a shred of resistance to a force so deeply ingrained in Mairon's being, a force shuddering through him in the form of a dancing melody that he could not blot out or disobey if he tried. He whimpered. The pressure in his chest was excruciating, and it took all the willpower he had within him not to scream and beg for it to stop. He felt his bone buckle and give in, and his lungs shred to pieces, and he couldn't breath, could do naught but open and close his mouth in desperation, eyes wide with a panic that dragged his mind straight back to Numenor, back to Huan's jaws closing around his throat, back to drifting helplessly at the bottom of the ocean, struggling not to open his mouth and inhale water. He was dimly aware that the pressure in his chest had subsided, and he could faintly feel his lungs knitting back together, his bones forming once more into crystalline, solid structures. He concentrated on that instead of his lack of air, and found that he could breath once more. His lungs had healed themselves. He took in deep, desperate breaths, limp with relief. The last remains of Discord ringing in his ears died down, until only the beat of his heart in tune with the melody remained. He mourned its loss, for he loved that Song, Melkor's Song, that rang within the earth and brought to life beauty from destruction. He had spent many a sleepless night curled up on his windowsill, forehead pressed against the blessedly cool window, humming its familiar tune in a feeble attempt to comfort himself. He blinked groggily.
"Mairon? Are you alright?" Mairon groaned quietly. He was no longer in any pain, and his broken rib had been completely healed; he managed to sit up quite easily. Perhaps his only complaint was that he felt wrung out, as though he'd just run several miles. Although that made sense given that Melkor had forced his body into healing itself far, far faster than was natural. His analysis of the situation done, he gave a fairly confident reply.
"I'm fine. Thank you, for doing that." Melkor was looking at him curiously.
"Are you sure? I had to destroy everything before building it back up again, so there was a hole in your lung for a moment but it was barely even a few seconds… you shouldn't have reacted so badly."
"Oh. That. It wasn't anything you did, it- well- it just reminded me of something. That happened. A while ago." Melkor tilted his head to the side, contemplating this.
"Númenor? Or Huan."
"I- How do you know about Numenor? You shouldn't know that." Melkor sighed, burying his face in Mairon's hair. The eager warmth surrounding his Maia soothed him. It reminded him that he wasn't alone, left to wander in the cold forever. He was only sorry that he hadn't realized how much Mairon was worth until he had lost him.
"Vaire. She comes here to visit me, sometimes, shows me what she's weaving. Usually concerning whatever you or my old allies are up to. At first I thought it a kindness on her behalf, but I quickly realized that that was not at all the case. She is just as cruel as her husband, though perhaps in a subtler way." He laughed bitterly. Mairon gazed up at him with wide eyes filled with sorrow.
"What did you see?" He asked, though he could already guess the answer.
"She showed me all the worst things. Why would you do that for me, Mai? Why the fuck did you ever think you could bring me back." He knew that his harsh tone hurt Mairon, but he could not stop it. Just as he had not been able to stop himself from breaking that fragile throat, from laughing at the Maia's terror, from- Melkor froze, his lungs suddenly feeling very tight. Mairon had done all this for him, had killed himself for his Master's memory, and all Melkor had given him in return was pain. Even now Mairon subconsciously flinched at his harsh tone. "I'm sorry," he said helplessly, though the words felt strange in his mouth.
"S'fine," Mairon mumbled, looking at him strangely.
"What?" He demanded. Mairon hesitated.
"Nothing. It's just that… I've never heard you say sorry before. And now you've said it twice."
"Oh. Yea, I guess you're right." Melkor winced. An apology from him had been long overdue, and his heart ached at the surprise in Mairon's voice. The Maia must have thought that he was not even capable of regret, or guilt. And while it was true that Melkor didn't often empathize with the people he hurt - why should he, when they had been the ones to dare stand in his way - this was Mairon. And Melkor regretted everytime he had ever caused golden tears to run down that perfect face, even if he had refused to admit it to himself until now. "It's just that, while I was wandering around here alone, I had time to think. A lot of it. And I believe that I came to realize how much you meant to me…" He trailed off, knowing exactly what he wanted to say because he had run it through his head at least a hundred times in his loneliness, but unsure of what Mairon's reaction to it would be. He hated not being able to see his Maia's face.
"Go on," Mairon said gently.
"I just- I didn't expect you do to what you did, after I left. I thought maybe you would go back to the Valar, or build up a little kingdom of your own. I certainly didn't expect you to try and bring me back, or attempt to conquer the world in my name. Especially not after the way I treated you. You surprised me, Mai. I always thought you were secretly glad to have me gone so that you could finally be granted the power you always deserved. But you weren't, and you wanted me back, and you did the craziest, most idiotic things in that attempt, and I shouldn't find that attractive but I do, and I'm proud of you. So yea. I am sorry, sorry that I never realized how much I needed you before. And I'm sorry that I never realized how much my approval meant to you, and for all the times I ever made you feel as though you weren't good enough. You are good enough, more than that, you're perfect, and if anyone ever says otherwise I will fight them." He paused, cupping Mairon's face in his hands in the darkness. His warm skin felt pleasant against Melkor's iron tipped nails. "I love you. A lot. And I was lonely without you," He said softly, and kissed Mairon, sliding one hand down to tilt the Maia's chin up to reach his lips better. Mairon let out a muffled whimper, though he still leaned eagerly into the kiss, letting his Master bite gently at his mouth with fangs of ice. "My best, my most beautiful, my most precious servant." His voice sent shudders down Mairon's spine, and when he eventually pulled away the Maia was left shivering with delight at having tasted such raw power.
"You said you would fight anyone who called me imperfect. Will you fight me, then?" He asked, after licking drops of blood from his bitten lips. The blood tasted nice. Like spicy, molten metal, liquid fire that burned the roof of his mouth. Perhaps he finally understood why Melkor liked to bite him so much. Or maybe he was just a bit of a sadist. Both were viable options.
"Really? Everything I just said and that's what you latch onto?" Melkor laughed. He knew this habit of Mairon's, though, to grab onto the seemingly smallest details when the big picture became too much for him. "If you want a truthful answer, then yes, I will fight you. You better ready to be beaten up." Mairon laughed, then sobbed, because this was all getting too much for him to handle and he wasn't sure how to react.
"I want to see your face," he murmured after he had wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. He reached up a hand to stroke Melkor's cheek. Melkor froze, leaning almost instinctively away.
"No you don't."
"Why not?"
"The Valar. They ruined me. They beat my crown down around my neck and cut off my feet. I cannot walk, only drift in and out of shadows," He said, and told himself that crying everytime he thought of that was useless and would accomplish nothing, but his self control was never as impeccable as his Maia's and he couldn't hold back his tears. Mairon kissed him.
"It's alright. Show me. I can assure you that I am not what I once was either." Melkor held up a hand hesitantly. It was not the fact that Mairon might find him hideous that bothered him; the Maia had confirmed long ago that he had rather… unorthodox… tastes. It was more the thought of letting Mairon see him so powerless. He was supposed to be mighty, to be able to send chasms cracking open in the earth with a single step, to make all those before him kneel, stricken by terror, by a mere sweep of his hand. Now he was as a ghost, a black hole that could only consume yet would never fill the emptiness within it. What was that creature that had stolen his Maia's ring again? Gollum. He was like Gollum, a wretched, shivering mess with no place in this world. Ilúvatar had promised him a Purpose, yet the moment he attempted to do as his nature commanded him to, that Purpose had been snatched from his jaws with no mercy but for the distant laughs of the Valar and Ilúvatar's cold gaze. They had thrown him in here because they had wanted to pretend that he did not exist, that he had no place among them. But he did. They could not ignore him forever. Soon he would break free of this place, and then they would finally be forced to see that he did have a Purpose, one he had created for himself, and he would stop at nothing to fulfill it. He was not a monster. It was not his fault that Ilúvatar had made him this way. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and snapped his fingers, the friction sending blue flames leaping to life. The fire burned off of the traces of sodium chloride in his skin as well as his own flesh. It did not hurt him, for he had lost all feeling in his hands other than pain a long time ago, when he had been foolish enough to touch those cursed jewels and they had left their mark on him forever. He saw now that Mairon's gaze also flickered to his hands.
"You should have let me heal them," he whispered.
"It is an impossible task. You would not have been able to, especially since your power does not lie in that area."
"I could have lessened the pain." Melkor sighed.
"Have we not already had this discussion?"
"You're right, it's just- sorry." Mairon fell quiet. The bright light of the fire hurt his eyes after he'd been surrounded by pitch black darkness for so long, and his pupils shrank to tiny dots. He blinked in an attempt to stave off the pain. Once his eyes had adjusted better, he could see Melkor properly. The Vala was covered in ice. His tears had frozen on his face, so that when he shifted his head light danced on the frost dripping down his eyes. The ice coating the hand where he held the fire was melting, and water droplets broke away only to float off into the darkness. His feet were, as he'd said, completely hewn off, and he floated in the lack of gravity within the Void. Whoever had cut them off had not down a good job, for shards of bone lay embedded in his flesh, and the cut was not clean, but jagged, as though several swings had been made before the feet had come off. Around his neck were the remains of his crown. It had been wrought of black iron, the tips sharp as knife points, with three hollows to set the Silmarils within. Mairon had hated that crown. Melkor had refused his help while forging it, even with his wounded hands, and Mairon had watched in despair as blood dripped onto the ground at his Master's feet with each stroke of the hammer. Now the points of that crown dug into his collarbone, the metal welded into his skin so that every turn of his head must have been agony. He must have attempted to heal himself, hence his sudden mastery of his healing powers, but seemingly to no avail. And his hands were too injured to do anything to help with. His hair was streaked with white ice that glittered as the dark strands floated about his face. It had been hacked short the last time Mairon had seen him, but now it had grown out almost long enough to reach his waist. Mairon personally preferred it that way, because then he could braid it into intricate patterns. Melkor raised an eyebrow.
"I know what you're thinking," he said. Mairon looked up at him with an anxious expression. The Vala had dark circles under his eyes that had not been there the last time Mairon had seen him. How many sleepless nights had he spent here, fending off the shadows that longed to steal his power? Too many, it seemed, for his eyes were sunken into his skull and the outline of his face was gaunt and thin. There was no sunlight in the Void. Without it his skin had faded to a deathly white, other than the three ragged, dark claw marks running down the face, which made a stark contrast to the paleness of his complexion. He looked dead, or perhaps more accurately, like the undead. Too many teeth clawed their way out of his mouth at awkward angles, piercing through the skin at the corners of his hesitant grin. His ears were that of an elf's, though longer, drooping at the corners. They were studded through with dark iron and silver hoops that clattered against eachother whenever he turned his head. And trapped under the ice coating his skin were galaxies. Entire universes, glistening with the glow of millions of stars, each tiny pinprick of light blurring together to form lumiscent white brushstrokes that blended with Melkor's pallid skin, so that it appeared as though he had strange, gleaming strokes of paint covering him. Eventually the ice on his upper body gave way to dark scales covering his lower half, and at first glance they appeared to be pitch black, but upon closer inspection they too were covered in galaxies, in nebulas that shimmered in dizzying arrays of all the colors in the world.
"You want to braid my hair, don't you?" His voice drew Mairon away from his thoughts, and he hurriedly drew his eyes back up to Melkor's face, the crimson blush of embarrassment dusting the tips of his ears and his cheeks. He nodded after his mind had registered what his Master had said.
"That would be nice." His hands felt useless, just hanging at his sides, and in the short amount of time that Melkor had put out the offer he had already come up with several overly detailed design ideas. His fingers itched to do something, to create. Melkor blew several floating strands of hair out of his face, the ice in his breath causing them to be coated in frost.
"Finally. I don't have anything to cut it all off with, and I can't exactly braid it myself. It was getting annoying." Mairon didn't miss his longing glance at his burnt, useless hands. The Maia rested a hand on his Master's shoulder in an attempt to appear vaguely comforting.
"I can't do anything about your hands, but I can help with the crown and your feet, if you want," he said quietly. Melkor stared at him, shifting uncomfortably. He did not deserve this attention, this amount of care, from a being whose last memory of him had been pain.
"It's alright. Do my hair first," he responded eventually. Somehow a part of him had been expecting Mairon to just leave upon seeing him in the firelight, upon seeing the twisted iron collar, so similar to what the thralls they had kept had been forced to wear, upon seeing how utterly in ruins he was. No Maia would wish to serve one so weak, least of all Mairon, who had ridiculously high standards for everything. Melkor had expected him to flicker off into the darkness. And the worst part was that he had been prepared to let him. He had forced his Maia into too many things under the excuse of the Silmarils clouding his mind - and yes, it was a perfectly valid excuse, he really had not been himself, but if he had to see the terror that had so often dwelled within Mairon's eyes in those days one more time, he feared that he might throw up. Melkor's days of forcing his Maia to do his bidding were over. Perhaps that was another sign of weakness. He sighed. Mairon's fingers running through his hair were soft, unlike a smith's fingers, and infuriatingly gentle.
"Why do you keep coming back everytime I hurt you?" He hissed, half to himself, crossing his legs so as to sit more comfortably. "And why do you remain with me when I can no longer gift you kingdoms?"
"Because I enjoy your company," Mairon replied. He was concentrated fully on his work, and Melkor guessed that he had spoken without much thought.
"Excuse me?"
"Do I have to repeat myself?" So he had replied truthfully. Melkor frowned in confusion. No one enjoyed his company. Even his brother had gotten tired of him after a while, and that tiredness had eventually evolved into hatred. Melkor had told himself that he hated Manwë back, but he couldn't help but miss the games they had played, or the conversations they had had concerning all the great things they were going to do together. He growled quietly, shoving all thoughts of his brother out of his mind. That was a mess he could tackle some other time. Mairon must have sensed his confusion, because he sighed, the rush of warm air tickling the back of Melkor's neck.
"How many times do I have to tell you that I love you and enjoy talking to you for it to get through your thick skull, you absolute moron." Despite his harsh words, his tone was endearing. Melkor blinked.
"I know you love me… but my brother said the same thing. Right before throwing me into here. So, I dunno, I guess I always thought you could hate someone but still love them."
"Your brother is a lying piece of shit," Mairon said simply. Melkor was inclined to agree.
"Thank you."
"For the braids, or for telling you when you're being an idiot and reciting the crap your family tells you?" Melkor turned around, tugging the half braided strands out of Mairon's hands, much to his annoyance. He lifted the Maia's chin with a hand until they were at eye level. Mairon's eyes were filled with fire, with a gentle warmth that wrapped around Melkor and soothed his pain in whispered breaths that told him that he would never be alone again. The Void was a dark place. But in the darkness his Maia flickered with fire, with the spirit of creation that allowed Mairon to craft such intricate pieces, that let him breath life and motion into dead metal and gears. He could send living beasts of iron across the sky and boats that moved of their own will flying over the ocean waves, and Melkor wondered why he had never thought much of it before. The Flame Imperishable that he had searched for for aeons had been right here all along, curled up within the small form of this Maia. He almost laughed. Had Eru intended this? He stroked Mairon's cheek, eyes glittering. He finally had his Flame, and it was a more glorious feeling than he ever could have imagined.
"For everything," he breathed, and Mairon knew that he meant more than just what had come to pass since they had met in the Void. He pressed their foreheads together, fëa humming with a strange mix of his Song and the Discord. Melkor's breaths sent ice crystals flowering over his face, crystals that evaporated under the heat of his skin so that steam billowed out around him, touching him with gentle fingers of smoke. Melkor was staring at him in that way that made his head spin. He breathed out slowly.
"I would do it all again, if I had to."
"I know. I wish you wouldn't, but I know," Melkor said, "And I want you to know that you're the most perfect creature I've ever laid eyes on." Mairon grinned, finally closing his fiery eyes. He was exhausted, and cold, but happy. Happier than he had been in the last six thousand years.
"I know, Mel. I know."