Work Text:
The first time Mairon had glimpsed his reflection after the downfall of Númenor and the loss of his fair form, it took him a moment to recognize it was his own hröa staring back at him from the mirror. He had told himself it was the sacrifice he must make, but that contorted face sneering at him from the glass filled him with a sudden, burning fury. Mairon could endure physical pain, but this helplessness, the constant echo in the back of his mind that he’d lost such a valuable tool forever… Because that was all that form was to Mairon. Nothing more than a useful tool for deception. It was not any true identity of his, only a role he took on in order to fulfill a greater purpose. Like any other tool, it was to be used and then discarded. That must explain his fury at its loss, since without that form, it would be much more challenging for Mairon to achieve his goals and better Middle-Earth. A lingering sense of… what must have been anger still remained, but he attributed it to the losses of recent battles. Still, he made a note to himself to have unnecessary mirrors removed from the halls of Barad-Dur.