Am dying, but still here

Eönwë led Mairon around the clearing by the hands, offering encouragement as he tested the small Maia's reflexes and mobility. Olórin sat nearby on the plush grass, watching his little brother carefully. He moved easily and obeyed gentle prompting—both physical and verbal—but he did nothing by himself. Whenever Eönwë let go he simply stood there, staring sightlessly into the distance.

"You're doing so well, Mai!" Eönwë cheered, expression alight. Mairon's tiny hands gripped the herald's fingers as he toddled quickly along after his friend. "Look at you! You'll be outrunning Lady Nessa in no time at all."

When Mairon became tired (his reactions slowing drastically and his eyelids drooping), Olórin stood and picked him up. The little redhead sighed, curling against his brother's shoulder and falling almost immediately into sleep, one tiny hand tangled in Olórin's long hair.

Eönwë, observing his friend's morose expression, patted his other shoulder. "At least he's incarnate now?" he offered, spreading his hands. "You could take him back to Taniquetil with you."

Olórin made a face. "No," he said, "not Taniquetil. Mairon still doesn't like the Valar and I'm worried that… well..."

"That Lord Manwё feels most like his brother?" Eönwë asked perceptively.

"Yes," he admitted, shifting Mairon a little more securely against his chest. He sighed, pressing a kiss against the top of his little brother's head. "I want him to spend time around them, because it's obvious he's more scared of the Valar than other Maiar, but...well, we should start slow."

Eönwë hummed in agreement.

Irmo was surprised by the tentative request that came to him in the barest brush of a mental presence. It was well-timed, since it was his turn to mind Mairon, but surprising. He offered a quick wait a moment, examining his little charge and consulting with his wife in the space of a few seconds. Yes, you may, he confirmed.

A moment later, Aulë stepped hesitantly into the little clearing, blinking in surprise as he saw Irmo waist-deep in a pool with Mairon floating just over his palms. The little Maia's eyes were vague but contented. "It soothes him," Irmo explained with a smile.

"I see." The smith shuffled uncertainly. "Is he—?"

"Recovering? Slowly but surely, yes."

"Good, that's...good."

Irmo rolled his eyes when Aulë didn't add anything else or move any closer. "Come, come hold him." The smith blanched at the invitation, but Irmo wasn't about to take no for an answer. "I would like to see how he reacts to you. He may wake further."

The possibility of helping his (former?) Maia overrode his hesitance. Wordlessly, Aulë shed his heavy protective gear and boots, along with his usual spartan adornments. He stepped carefully into the pool, clad only in loose trousers and a tight undershirt. Irmo moved back to make room, supporting Mairon with one hand, and gestured impatiently until the smith took his place. Aulë was half a head taller than Irmo, and much bulkier; Mairon's tiny, floating fána looked that much smaller over his palms.

The healer stepped back and watched.

Mairon's eyes remained vacant as Aulë stared down. The water of the pool rippled soothingly in the silence. Then finally: "Mairon. My little son." Aulë's words were low and choked, seeming almost to escape him unwillingly. "Forgive me for failing you. I should have seen, I—" He stopped abruptly, making a wounded noise in the back of his throat. "Forgive me."

Irmo watched Mairon closely, waiting for any reaction, good or bad. And there was… a flicker, just a little thing, in the depths of his vacant golden eyes. Better yet, he saw no signs at all of withdrawal. "He is not afraid of you," he marveled aloud, a bright grin stretching across his face. "My! He must still love you dearly."

Aulë raised his face, his expression twisted in hope and disbelief. "But I—I failed him, Irmo!" he said. "It was my job to protect him, I swore an Oath!" He looked back down. "And he, the youngest and most vulnerable of my children… I ignored him because I didn't know what to do with him, and he reaped the consequences. How could he possibly love me?"

Irmo shrugged elegantly, biting back a few choice words. The desperation in his friend's voice stung him deeply, but he knew better than most that not all wounds can be addressed immediately. "I could not tell you. I only speak what I see."

Aulë shuddered, his hands trembling and creating ripples around Mairon's fána. "I must return to the Forges," he said abruptly.

"But you will come again," said Irmo, taking his place. It was not a question.

"I—" he stopped abruptly, shutting his mouth with a click. "Yes, I will." He hastily gathered his gear and disappeared, retreating to the safe numbness of his workshop.

Irmo sighed and shook his head. "Well, little one," he said turning his attention back to Mairon, who still floated placidly in the water. "I suppose that is something we shall just have to work on, hmm?"