Chapter One

Mairon knew that the rings under his eyes were beginning to match his hair, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He knew as a Maia he could go without sleep longer than the Mirröanwi, but even he was reaching the limits of his endurance. He wanted to sleep, indeed, was supposed to be that way at the moment, but the darkness that still haunted him was strongest at night, and he had decided that staying awake was the best remedy for his nightmares.

There was no way to tell night from day in Mandos, no need for time, but even though it was inhabited by the dead, it had its own rhythms. Since the Ainur who served there still had friends and family who stayed in the outer world, even this place that was untouched by the concerns of the living followed the cycles that Arda moved to. It was night in Valinor, and quiet now in Mandos, most of the Maiar who served here resting or gone. There were enough remaining to make sure everything stayed calm, but for the most part the fëar were left to their own thoughts during this time.

Mairon was not yet truly serving here, but thanks to his nocturnal wanderings he already knew his way around almost perfectly. He wandered the corridors, looking at the tapestries and learning the shortcuts as he kept moving, trying to outrun both sleep and his memories. Wandering fit his current mood. He felt uprooted and adrift.

While he knew that his plan to serve in Mandos working with the Secondborn would work very well in a couple hundred years, possibly a bit sooner if he was careful, at the moment he was unable to. The first reason, obviously, was the fact that he didn't want anyone recognizing him. Quite a few had seen him during his service as Morgoth's lieutenant, and even more had seen him at the end of the War of Wrath, after he had surrendered to Eönwë.

But the second reason was larger. Mairon doubted he would be able to help anyone in his current state. He was too broken. Having been forced to re-live his worst memories at the hands of the Valar had nearly driven him insane, and if not for Námo and Nienna's help, it probably would have. Considering he hadn't slept in weeks, it seemed he could barely take care of himself, let alone help someone else.

Wrenching his thoughts away from just how long he had been awake, he glanced at the nearest tapestry to orient himself. Upon seeing what it showed, he mentally swore harshly, paling as he did so. When first he had come across this tapestry he'd hurried past after merely glancing at Vairë's creation, determined to never look at it again. Now, in his sleep deprived state, he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

He wasn't quite sure how Vairë was able to make such perfect representations of what occurred in Middle-earth, but at the moment he didn't really care. All he knew was that it was perfect: that moment on the bridge of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, when he had been on his back with teeth in his throat, forced to surrender to Lúthien. Yes, it was flawless, down to that half-defiant, half-terrified gleam in his own eyes. He had known he would be punished for the ruin of Tol Sirion; known that Morgoth would be furious with him for surrendering to Lúthien.

What he hadn't known was that Beren and Lúthien would actually succeed on their mad quest to retrieve a Silmaril; hadn't known that Morgoth would take out his anger and hatred over that fact on him; hadn't known that the punishment meted out would be much worse than he could have ever imagined…

Mairon slid down the wall, hands gripping his head frantically as the memories of what had been done to him overwhelmed him.

"So this entire humiliation can be laid at your feet," Morgoth continued. "And I am in no mood to forgive this failure."

...

"What do you want?" Sauron finally spat out, voice flat and emotionless, still fighting to recover from Morgoth's psychic assault. Gothmog grinned.

"From you?" he asked, voice almost a purr. "Nothing but your screams."

...

"Do you want me to snap this one too?" he asked the barely conscious Maia. "Leave you helpless? You already cannot walk, do you want to be unable to use your arms as well?" The dark haired Maia frantically shook his head. Gothmog's grin widened.

"Then beg," he whispered.

...

"Ah, Mairon," Morgoth's voice was smooth and gentle. "Why do you make me do this?"

...

"We have decided to be lenient to those who have made mistakes in their pasts and are truly repentant. But your chosen master knelt in this very spot and begged for mercy, deceiving us all." Manwë spoke with a much colder tone now. "We will not be deceived again."

Oh, no, Sauron thought frantically. Oh, please, no.

...

He tried to push the overwhelming wave of sensations away, but they were relentless, tormenting him with their intensity. He felt himself slipping closer to the mental brink he'd always feared Morgoth would forcibly drive him over one day. He gave a short, ironic laugh. Even Morgoth had never quite managed to drive him insane, but it seemed his own weakness would finally do it.

"Mairon?" The voice held a soft note of concern, and the Maia raised his head to meet Námo's questioning eyes. He'd been so lost in the hell of what had once been his life he hadn't heard the Vala's approach. His haunted gaze held the attention of the eldest of the Fëanturi as he realized he couldn't continue as he was any longer.

"Save me or destroy me," he whispered hollowly, "but I can't take this anymore."

Destroying every mental shield between him and the world, he let the walls he'd salvaged back together fall to nothing, and surrendered completely to the judgment of the Vala before him. He would have turned against on his memories and very self next, intent on destroying them as well in an attempt to end it all, but Námo caught his mind gently and refused to let him. Mairon turned his attention back to the Vala, feeling Námo's will completely encompass him, and as he did reality shifted…

He was lying on the cold floor of Angband with Morgoth looming over him, laughing.

"Ah, Mairon," the Dark Lord chuckled. "Did you really think you would get away from me? Did you really think you could cringe back to the old life you'd left and be free again? You sold you soul to me, Mairon, and I own you–now and forever. No matter what you do, however hard you struggle to be free, you will always be mine." He leaned down, reaching for the helpless Maia.

Don't touch me, Mairon thought desperately. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me–

His terrified plea broke off as Morgoth was suddenly blasted backwards, away from the Maia. All Mairon could do was stare as Námo was suddenly there, stepping over him to stand between the Maia and the one who claimed ownership of him. The Lord of Mandos radiated a power unmatched by the figure of Darkness Incarnate behind him.

"You do not own him," he said, voice quiet but deadly. "He has been redeemed by mercy and kindness, and by his own actions. You are merely a shadow of a thought, and have no power here. Begone, and trouble none again!" With an unholy shriek, the figure of Morgoth disappeared. Námo turned back to Mairon, and as he did, reality shifted again.

The wounds that Mairon had suffered at the hands of Morgoth and Gothmog were suddenly as fresh as they had been that horrible night long ago, and he found himself helpless on the ground, in agony and unable to move. Golden eyes silently begged for help from the Vala that had already saved him once, and Námo knelt by his side in response.

Mairon began to cry out in pain as Námo placed a hand directly on his ruined neck, but it changed to a gasp of relief as healing warmth spread through the damaged muscles and abraded throat. When Námo removed his hand, all that remained were the two silvery scars that Mairon carried in reality. Námo then gathered Mairon in his arms, careful of the broken bones and cauterized whip strokes. As he did so, reality shifted again, and they were back in Mandos, Mairon still safe in Námo's arms.

Mairon realized that everything that had just happened had simply been inside his head, and with a long, broken sigh closed his eyes, relaxing in the Vala's embrace. He felt incredibly fragile, more than he had before, but also immensely better and completely safe. The demons that stalked him had been silenced, the distance between him and the brink of insanity had grown, and now Námo's care and protection stood between it and him. For the first time, Mairon truly believed that he could be reclaimed from the Darkness.

With that new-found belief, and Námo's presence still warm in his mind, he found his thoughts drawn to another matter. He had not yet given his oath to Námo, as the Vala had told him not to do so until ready. He'd been confused by that, but had spent the time deciding what he wanted to swear. There was a standard oath that most of the Maiar had given their chosen lord or lady, but Mairon had already sworn and broken it, and had decided against swearing it again. He was no longer the same as he had been when he served Aulë, and could not be the same again. He wanted the oath he swore to reflect that. He needed his oath to Námo to show that he was leaving behind his old life of fear, pain, and hopelessness.

Tonight seemed to be a break with the past. He realized that the words Morgoth had spoken had been a reflection of his deepest fears, fears that had been silenced now. Creating a new life for himself here would still be difficult, but when had his life been easy since leaving the Timeless Halls?

Mind made up, Mairon began to speak, barely above a whisper, eyes still closed. The long-syllabled words flowed smoothly as he promised in Valarin to serve and obey. He knew that technically he should be kneeling or standing, but he was far too tired—and too comfortable in Námo's arms—to move. Besides, as everything else about this oath was unconventional, he didn't see why he should care.

He fell silent, and a breath later Námo began to speak, responding to what Mairon had sworn, promising to protect and care for him. It was mostly standard: the Maiarin oaths had originated from the need of protection against Melkor's predations, but some of it was geared as a response towards the more unusual things Mairon had said.

When Námo was finished, silence reigned until Mairon yawned, sleepless weeks finally catching up with him. Námo smiled, and ran his hand through the Maia's dark hair, then picked him up. The soft rocking of Námo's steps lulled Mairon almost to sleep; he nearly didn't notice when he was laid down on something soft.

A new, feminine voice caught his attention, and another set of soft fingers ran through his hair. They belonged to Vairë, he realized. He had been tucked into bed between the Vala and the Valië like a child scared of the dark. Mairon smiled softly at that comparison, and yawned again. He slipped into sleep, feeling safe and loved.

So what we've all been waiting for...okay, maybe just me, but I hope you'll review and let me know how you're liking it so far! Redemption is one of my favorite (and most popular) stories, so I hope that the sequel will not disappoint!