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Eonwe was sitting on the windowsill of his nest-room, his feet dangling over the sheer drop of Taniquetil, when Manwe entered.
He did not respond when Manwe knocked gently on the doorframe. Eonwe left the door open, which to Manwe was a sure sign that his beloved Maia was not truly closing himself off. Manwe crossed the room, leaning on the wall a few feet from the window. “Eonwe.”
“... My lord.”
“What saddens thee? Thou shouldst be celebrating! Thou have won a great victory!” The day prior, Eonwe had returned to Valinor, having deposed Melkor and helped many escape from drowned Beleriand. He had collapsed into his nest right after, barely bothering to strip from his armor. He lay, nude and worn, for many hours. Manwe had not bothered him.
“... Yes, but… this is not over. Morgoth’s works remain. Balrogs and Orcs and dragons and… and…” He swallowed roughly. “... And him. He remains. He would… he would not follow me.”
“Who is he, if Morgoth is disposed?”
“... Mairon. Sauron. Thu. Gorthaur. The Cruel, they call him, now. I… when he stood before me, I… even I had… I could not meet his eyes. There was… I cannot describe it, and it harrows me to recall, even now.” His voice broke. “By Eru, what did Melkor do to him?”
“I know not.” Manwe shook his head. “I do not understand why someone would value torment and torture and destruction over health and growth. Melkor… or… what Melkor became, Morgoth Bauglir…” he said the name as if it pained him, “... is not something I can understand. And…. and I think that a bit of that… darkness lives within Mairon now.”
Eonwe turned to look at Manwe. “Well, how do we remove it from him?”
Manwe reached out, and Eonwe moved so Manwe’s hand rested on the base of his wing. Manwe caressed the spot, running his fingers through the soft feathers. “I am not sure we can, my dear. If I knew, I would have taken it out of Melkor, too.”
“... He was dear to me, once.” Eonwe sounded like he was crying. “He and I were as brothers. I loved him.” He hugged himself. “I loved him. I loved him. I still love him. I would take him back with open arms.” He dissolved into sobbing tears, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and pressing it to his eyes. “I am sorry, my lord.”
Manwe gently lifted him off his windowsill, carefully settling the two of them into Eonwe’s nest-bed. He wrapped his great wings around Eonwe and held his Maia close. “... Hush. Do not apologize for thy tears. I have wept many for Melkor since he turned.”
Eonwe snuggled in, wrapping his own wings around him and leaning his head into Manwe’s broad chest. “... ‘Tis unfair.”
“‘Tis,” Manwe agreed.”
“He was stolen from me.” Eonwe’s voice was low and devastated. “Melkor stole him from us-- all of us. Aule and Yavanna and I and everyone who loved him. Melkor stole him away and warped him and changed him and it is so. terribly. unfair!” He gasped for breath. “I am sorry, my lord, but… I hate him for that. I hate Melkor. He stole something terribly precious from me and I hate him.”
Manwe stroked Eonwe’s curls. “Do not fret. I… Morgoth is very hated now. I cannot… I still love him. Melkor. Not Morgoth Bauglir. But I understand if thou feel hate.”
“... So unfair.”
Manwe nodded. He cooed gently into Eonwe’s hair, brushing his fingers gently against Eonwe’s skin, his hair, his wings. Eonwe was tiny in Manwe’s arms, tiny and impossibly soft. He was trembling. “I know not what to say, save what I have said.”
Eonwe pressed his fingers into Manwe’s wings, feeling his hands plunge deeply into the thick feathers. “Say no more. You cannot heal me.”
Manwe raised Eonwe’s head so the latter was looking into his eyes before tenderly kissing him on the forehead. “It is not for lack of effort. Thou art dear to me. I promised thee long ago that I would mend every hurt, and if I cannot, I will hold thee until the tears dry.”
Eonwe took Manwe’s hand and raised it to his lips, brushing his lips softly over the knuckles. He held Manwe’s hand to his chest and tucked his head under Manwe’s chin. “... Thank you, my dear lord.”