Disclaimer: All recognisable characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate. I own only my OC's and ideas.

Before we go on, a huge thanks to CoffeeRanger for helping with everything from writing to editing to talking over ideas! And Freeranger for proofreading for me.

Chapter 1: Dinner in Mandos

Mairon was sketching.

Lying flat on his stomach on the soft carpet of his room, the Maia subconsciously hummed as he designed pieces of intricate jewellery. He was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he'd drawn ideas for smith work this delicate. It was so long, in fact, he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it.

Then again, that could have something to do with the holes in his mind and memories. He had enough…traces, of memories to know he had done this at some point in the distant past. It felt vaguely familiar, but nothing more. Mairon supposed it must have happened back when he'd first served Lord Aulë. Eru knew he'd rarely had time to draw jewellery designs when he'd served Morgoth.

As for making anything pretty or delicate…

Mairon sighed wistful, carefully adding the finishing touches to his sketch. Laying down his pencil, the Maia admired the design. It truly was a beautiful brooch. His fingers traced lightly over the air above the design, hovering there. It seemed too perfect to sully with his touch, somehow. Despite the fact he'd drawn it.

It was a shame he would probably never get the chance to make it. Though Mairon wasn't sure he wanted to. Despite his joy at being able to draft designs once more, he still held no desire to work in a forge. The itch in his hands and arms that would drive him crazy until he picked up a hammer and worked at moulding and shaping something had yet to reappear. And, even if it did, he very much doubted he'd be allowed anywhere near a forge right now.

A fact Mairon was grateful for.

Almost two solar years (as they measured time by Anar now) had passed since he'd returned to Valinor. Almost two years since he'd received mercy from the Valar instead of condemnation. Almost two years of being loved and encouraged by the Valar whose authority he was currently under.

Mairon wasn't sure how he felt about that last one. To have your entire life change so drastically when you had all but given up hope was disconcerting. He was still struggling to figure it all out.

Of course, this could have something to do with the fact he'd spent most of the last two years sleeping. Trying to make up for literal Ages of broken sleep and horrific nightmares. When he wasn't sleeping, his time was spent in the company of Lord Námo and Lord Irmo, Lady Nienna, or, on the odd occasion, Lady Estë, or Lady Vairë. Under their care, he'd started the long process of healing from the abuse he'd suffered under Morgoth.

They were the only Valar he'd seen since his Trial. He hadn't seen any Maiar either. If he knew Lord Námo (and since the Vala had spent many hours with him, he felt he at least had a semblance of knowledge of him), that was because of deliberate machinations on the Doomsman's part. The Vala wanted him to be stronger before having to interact with others. Especially those who didn't know what had been done to him…

It made sense. Mairon knew his mental state wasn't good. However, he felt he had improved. In the past year especially. Being able to sleep as much as he wanted (and not have nightmares), had done wonders for both his mental and physical states.

Not being hurt, abused, yelled at, humiliated, or degraded had also helped. In the whole two years he'd been here, no one had raised either their voice or a hand towards him in anger. No saying he needed to be taught a lesson; that he forgot his place…

On the contrary, the Valar he'd interacted with had shown him nothing but love, support, and healing. They'd gently encouraged him at every opportunity, trying to restore some measure of self-confidence and self-worth. Both of which he'd lost a long time ago.

Mairon soaked it up like a sponge, his soul all-but weeping at the attention he had been desperately seeking for Ages. Despite those efforts, though, Mairon still did not have much faith in himself. The Valar were optimistic he was improving, but Mairon didn't know if he truly believed that himself yet.

Tonight's dinner party was as much a test as it was a challenge. For the first time since the Trial, Mairon was going to meet some of the other Maiar who served in Mandos. Not many. Simply Námo's and Vairë's chiefs (three in total), but Mairon was still nervous about meeting anyone else.

Especially someone of his own order. Especially someone more powerful than he. Such meetings had never gone well for him in the past – his interactions with the Fëanturi, their spouses, and Lady Nienna being the sole exceptions. Everyone else he'd ever met who was more powerful had wanted him destroyed. And even those of lesser power had often wished that on him.

His hand hovered above the necklace Lord Aulë had made. While it kept the dark powers Melkor had forced on him at bay (which was a huge relief), he missed his natural abilities keenly. He could still feel them in his mind, but was unable to get near them, or gain access. While not being able to use them did not hurt, it did make him feel lonely and adrift.

Especially if he didn't have something else to focus on. Hence the large amount of drawing he'd done lately. This brooch was not the first thing he'd sketched since hesitantly asking for a pencil and a bit of paper. Lord Námo had not only provided these things, but also supplied a folder to store them in. It had a dark blue cloth cover embroidered by Lady Vairë with his name, surrounded by brightly coloured flowers and birds. Mairon had loved it on sight. It was now his most treasured possession.

Not that he had many possessions to begin with…

"Mairon, may I come in?"

Mairon started at the question, and the gentle knock on the closed door that accompanied it. Heart racing, he took deep calming breaths. Closing his eyes, Mairon tried to calm his thoughts and heartbeat down.

Even after all this time, he still jumped when people approached his space unexpectedly, or spoke if he had no idea they were there. With his powers bound, he could no longer feel those around him (including the Valar) unless he was specifically focused on his surroundings. It was disturbing, like losing one's hearing or sight. But, Mairon would take it any day over having to worry about Morgoth's taint controlling him.

Corrupting him. Like it had done for Ages.

It was a while before he felt ready to answer, but the Vala who's care he was under (he would recognise that voice anywhere) was patient.

"Yes. Sir."

The Maia did not look up from his drawing as he felt Lord Námo approach him; trying to delay the inevitable. He was not prepared for the evening. Not that anything anyone (including himself), could do or say would prepare him for the evening, but still…

"That is a nice brooch."

Mairon finally looked up at the sound of Lord Námo's voice. The Vala was standing a few feet in front of the doorway, looking down at the drawing. The silver markings visible on his face glowed faintly; his gaze as unmasked as he ever allowed it to be. By the tilt of his head, Mairon knew him to be interested in the paper – or rather, the drawing on it. Mairon ducked his head, suddenly embarrassed.

"I can't decide whether emerald or turquoise is a better choice for the gem colour. I favour emerald, but there is something about silver and turquoise together…The frequencies of the two components would harmonize, rather than simply be parallel, like the emeralds would be so…"

Mairon's mouth moved before his brain caught up. When it did, he trailed off, realising Lord Námo would not have the slightest interest in hearing his opinions on what metals looked and worked the best with what gems.

Damn smith's brain running away with him again.

"It doesn't matter. At least drawing gives me something to do."

Námo said nothing in response, but silence from this Vala was normal. And he had said the brooch design looked nice. A finger of warmth spread through Mairon's fëa at the subtle praise for a simple drawing. Tucking his new drawing inside, he carefully closed his sketch folder and stood up.

"Ready to go, Little One?"

Mairon's smile was wry. Though calling it a smile at all was generous; it was more an awkward upward twist of his lips. He had yet to truly smile. Though he was trying (for the sake of pleasing the Valar, if nothing else), it was not easy.

"No. I don't think I'll ever be ready for this. Even more reason to do it now, right?"

Námo's expression did not change, but his voice was gentle, full of encouragement and patience. Mairon had learnt early on you could tell a lot about the Doomsman's mood and feelings from listening to his tone of voice. And right now, that tone was soft and soothing; a balm to his still-brutalised soul.

"All will be well, Mairon. Vairë and I spoke to our Maiar; they are very accepting of you. Especially once they heard Melkor hurt you, though the exact details have been kept secret. He targeted more than a few in our service at different times. Many more have been affected by his actions. They all know what he was like. No one will think less of you because of what he did."

Mairon's laugh was broken, and devoid of humour.

"I doubt anyone could think less of me right now, even if they tried. It doesn't take a genius to know how they see me. I'm a traitor, a double agent, the one who betrayed them all. And, now I've come slinking back when things got hard, tail between my legs, begging for another chance." Mairon closed his eyes, hunching in on himself a little more. "You might have shown me mercy, but I'm pretty sure everyone else in Valinor hates me."

"I think you'll be surprised by how many sympathise with you. You were far from the only one to suffer from Melkor's treachery, Mairon."

The Maia opened dull golden eyes at his words. Even though they were brighter than they had when he'd first arrived, they were still nothing compared to the molten gold they'd once been. Námo knew this from talking to Aulë. While this Maia was different to the one who'd once served the Worldsmith, Námo could see similarities.

"But it was my own bad choices that led to that suffering. When I served Lord Aulë, I did not suffer like I did once I left."

Námo sighed. It wasn't the first time they'd had this type of conversation. And he knew it would not be the last. Mairon's very identity, his life essence, was damaged. He was still struggling to figure out whom he even was. Though he was healing, he still had a long way to go before he was remotely capable of being able to dictate his own life. Let along figure out what he wanted to do with it.

But, Námo knew he would never get there if he didn't take any steps. They didn't have to be big ones. But, they needed to happen, if he wasn't going to hide away in his room until the remaking of Arda.

Tonight was one of these little steps. Though, for Mairon, it felt closer to a giant leap. There was no cause for anxiety, however. It was simply dinner with Námo, Vairë and their chief Maiar. None of whom would judge or belittle him for what he'd gone through, or done. Their Maiar weren't the sort to judge based on past events or actions.

"I know talking won't change your mind. I'll just have to show you you're wrong. Starting with dinner. Come. We don't want to keep Vairë waiting any longer."

Though reluctant to move, Mairon instinctively obeyed Lord Námo's gentle request. Placing his sketch folder on a chair with care, he tucked the pencil inside before trailing behind Námo as they left the safety of his room.

Unhurriedly, the Doomsman led them towards his and Vairë's private living quarters. Mairon had been in them several times before, though he preferred to remain in his room. Despite knowing he could be here (didn't have much choice in the matter, actually) being out in Mandos still felt like he was intruding on the space of others.

The only place he felt completely safe and comfortable was in his room. It was his space, a safe-haven; his personal refuge from the cruel world. Nothing bad had ever happened to him there; no one had even entered without his permission to do so.

Not since he'd been well enough to give it anyway. But, Mairon knew he couldn't hide in there forever. Sooner or later, he would have to come out and interact with others. It was inevitable. As much as the though made his heart rate speed up and his palms feel sweaty.

Though, truth be told, so much time in solitary (while it had been nice at first), was beginning to drive him crazy.

Despite all that'd happened to him, he was still a Maia. And the Maiar were not designed to be solitary creatures. It was that very fact that had led to…

"Here we are."

Mairon started back to the present, as Lord Námo held the door open for him. Not allowing himself to think too hard about it, the Maia hurriedly stepped into the room. Námo was right behind him; a steady presence helping calm the panic threatening to rise and engulf Mairon.

As he entered, the first thing he noticed was the laughter. Laughter which only died down when Námo walked towards the three Maiar, and one Valië, already seated at the wooden dining table. Not knowing what else to do, Mairon trailed behind, trying to be invisible.

"Did I miss something funny?"

Lady Vairë's laugh was soft, her eyes sparkling with humour. The Maiar with her ducked their heads slightly, looking anywhere but at Námo (or each other, Mairon noticed).

"Nothing you'd understand, Dear." Vairë brushed her hand along one of Námo's own. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment, before breaking contact. Vairë then turned her attention to the Maia hovering behind Námo with a warm smile. "Mairon. It's lovely to see you again. I would love it if you would come and sit by me. Introductions can wait until we are all settled."

Noting he was being placed between the two Valar made Mairon feel a bit better about this. After all the trouble they had gone to healing and looking after him these last two years, he doubted they would suddenly turn around and hurt him.

Or let anyone else do it in their presence, if he was going to think about this rationally. Though, to his intense surprise, the presence of the other Maiar was not as frightening as he'd feared.

He slipped quietly towards the chair Vairë had indicated. Perching on it, he glanced quickly at the others around the table. The tallest Maiar smiled warmly at him when he looked in her direction. She had silver hair shot through with strands of blue/green, Mairon noticed, before quickly lowering his gaze in deference to her senior position among the Maiar. The other two were dark haired, and were trying to make him feel comfortable by not looking at him directly. But, their efforts made it obvious that's what they were doing. For some reason their actions, rather than being awkward, put him at ease even further.

They were as unsure about how to react to the situation as he was. This knowledge made Mairon's lungs loosen, and his muscles (which had been tight all day), relaxed a fraction.

"Now we are all here, I'll get the introductions out of the way. Then we can eat. I understand Fanyamírë has prepared quite the feast for us."

Lady Vairë smiled warmly around at them all.

"Everyone, this is Mairon. Mairon, may I introduce Marilwë and Astarion, chiefs of Námo's Maiar, and Eärwá, my chief Maia."

The silver/green haired Maia, Eärwá, smiled at him again. She had blue/green eyes that constantly twinkled with amusement.

"Nice to finally meet you, Mairon. I've heard a lot from my Lady about you these past few years."

Seeing his facial expression, the tall Maia chuckled.

"Don't worry. It's all good. Welcome to the madhouse that is Mandos. Why anything thinks this place is quiet and tranquil is beyond me. Especially with these two madcaps around."

She indicated the twins with one thumb as he took the lid off one of the dishes on the table, sniffing appreciatively at the aroma greeting her actions. The male Maia started loudly protesting his innocence, while Vairë and Marilwë laughed. Even Námo looked vaguely amused, from the little that could be seen of his face. Mairon gave Eärwá a hesitant half-smile, keeping his eyes averted from hers, before turning his attention to the twins.

While most Valar had only one chief Maia (though there was often a second or third-in-command as well), Námo had two of equal rank. Something Marion hadn't known before learning about this dinner. The twins were similar in physical appearance, both their fanar having light olive skin and long black/brown hair, though Astarion's was a bit shorter. However, Marilwë had dark green eyes, while Astarion's eyes were amber, glowing with an unearthly inner light.

This light fascinated Mairon. (The smaller Maia was unaware his own golden eyes had once glowed with a similar light. He avoided mirrors, and the last time he'd seen his reflection had been when he'd been on the run from Eönwë back on Endórë.) Seeing his look, Astarion stopped protesting, (giving Eärwá an offended glare) smiling warmly at him.

"Hallo Mairon. I'll have you know, I do not cause all the problems around here. Whatever they say. Fëanor does. You wouldn't believe what he tries to do. There's a reason he's not allowed out of his cell without close supervision. And, an even bigger reason all the other fëar are kept well away from him. Even his sons."

Vairë raised an elegant eyebrow as she took a forkful of salad.

"What's he done now?"

Astarion sighed, staring into his glass with a mournful expression.

"What hasn't he done?"

Marilwë laughed; the sound made Mairon feel suddenly warm inside. Looking up at her in surprise, Mairon blinked, unused to these sensations. Seeing his look, she winked at him, before turning to Vairë.

"I think my brother is referring to Fëanor's latest attempts to destroy his cell door."

Eärwá raised an eyebrow in a manner not dissimilar to her Lady.

"He's still doing that? I though he gave up on it a couple of hundred years ago."

Astarion gave his own salad a mournful look. It was so mournful, Mairon swore to himself the lettuce actually wilted on the plate.

"He had. Can we please talk about something else? Mairon. What are some of your hobbies?"

Caught off guard, the copper-haired Maia started panicking. But, before it got to the point where it was noticeable, a gentle hand on his lap brought him back to the present. Mairon looked down, only to realise there was nothing there. However, a reassuring look from Lord Námo brought him back to himself. Mairon took a calming breath, letting it out slowly, before focussing on the amber-eyed Maia.

Astarion didn't mean him any harm.

None of them did.

"I'm…I'm not sure." He began slowly. He chanced a glance at Námo, but the Vala's expression and demeanour did not change. Mairon bit his lip, turning back to face Astarion. "It's… been a while since I had time for hobbies. Though I am currently enjoying drawing designs for jewellery. What do you like doing?"

The other Maia stabbed at his now wilted (Mairon knew it was not his imagination) salad with more ferocity then one normally used to eat salad.

"When Fëanor is behaving himself, I like reading. And spending time with our older sister, Liltára. She serves Lady Nessa, and never comes to the Halls. Being as busy as we are, we don't get to see her as often as we'd like."

Marilwë nodded in agreement. She was eyeing off her brother's attempts to butcher his salad with a mixture of amusement and concern.

"That's true. We always seem to be so busy. Rarely an opportunity comes up that allows us both to take more than an afternoon off. Astarion, are you going to eat that? Because if you aren't, I'll take it. Now, before you destroy it and its will to even pretend to be somewhat palatable."

The male Maia pushed his salad plate towards her without a word. Marilwë happily began eating what was left. In between mouthfuls of wilted lettuce, she spoke cheerfully.

"Seeing we seem to be having a 'what's your hobby?' sharing time…I like writing poetry, and spending time in Lórien. Gardening is also a nice way to relax the mind. Eärwá, your turn. What're your hobbies?"

Vairë's chief smiled.

"I like weaving, obviously, and embroidery, and anything to do with any of those things. And I also occasionally like invading the kitchen and cooking shortbread biscuits. Shortbread is the best, and no one else makes itright."

Everyone (except Mairon, whose lips just twitched upwards), laughed at the look on her face (except, naturally, for Námo, who had been silent ever since they'd sat down). The ice having been broken, conversation flowed more freely after that, as even Vairë joining in the cheerful chatter. Astarion mellowed as the knowledge he would not have to deal with Fëanor until tomorrow sunk in, while Marilwë asked Mairon what kind of jewellery he was drawing.

Before he knew what was happening, Mairon found himself telling her all about the brooch design he'd sketched out this afternoon. Before long, he had the attention of both Eärwá and Vairë as well. Upon hearing that, Astarion muttered something about 'jewellery is what landed Fëanor here.' The comment caused Mairon to pull away from the conversation, not wanting to cause difficulties. But, after seeing everyone ignored the other Maia and want to know more about his drawing, he slowly regained his confidence.

Though, Námo did give his chief a few lingering looks of concern only Vairë noticed.

Mairon was surprised when the meal ended, and everyone got up to leave. He had been enjoying himself so much, he hadn't realised just how much time had passed. Lord Námo had been right. No one had judged him for his past actions, nor even pitied him. They'd simply accepted him for what he was now.

It was a nice feeling, Mairon decided. He found himself loathed to go back to his empty room just yet. He'd been starved for affection and companionship from other Maiar for so long, that, now that it had been given him, he didn't want it to stop. Maia were not designed to live solitary lives. Mairon did not want to go back there just yet…

Námo noticed this (the Doomsman didn't miss anything, especially if it happened under his nose) and turned to one of this Maiar.

"Marilwë, would you like to escort Mairon back to his room? Mairon, would you like that? You can take your time; there is no hurry. I'll make sure no one disturbs you."

Both Maiar nodded. Námo was pleased to note Mairon's eyes brightened at the thought of not having to go back to his empty room just yet. That sorted, the Vala turned to Astarion with a gentle look.

"Astarion, I would like to have a word with you. You don't seem happy, and it is not a recent development. Come, my child; we'll talk in my study."

Mairon instinctively stiffened, even as the other Maia nodded his consent, some of the tension visibly melting out of him. There was no fear or apprehension in Astarion's eyes at his lord's words, Mairon noted. Not as there would have been (and had been), had Morgoth said similar words to him. Or, even if Námo had said those words to him. All that existed on the other Maia's face was slight guilt, and, was that shame?

Mairon had no more time to contemplate that thought. Marilwë chose that moment to start talking to him as she practically dragged him away to show him something.

Marilwë and Mairon wandered the corridors together, stopping often to admire Vairë's tapestries. While this part of Mandos was separate to the part housing the fëar of the dead, the walls were still covered in colourful tapestries depicting past events. The figures within the works here seemed to dance with a life of their own. Mairon had noticed this the first time he'd been allowed out of his room. After watching them for hours, the Maia had realised, they did, in fact, have a life of their own. While the events being depicted were mostly mundane things, the tapestries were still woven with just as much skill as those decorating the actual Halls of Waiting; history was history to Vairë and her Maiar, no matter what it may depict. Not that Mairon had seen the major tapestries firsthand. He hadn't been into the part of Mandos housing the fëar of the dead.

He did not have clearance to go there. And, even if he did, he had no wish to.

His own room was in the living quarters occupied by Námo, Vairë and their Maiar. While it had initially surprised him (after his sentencing, he'd convinced himself he would be given a cell like Melkor. He'd been resigned to it, knowing it was far more than he deserved), he'd soon come to realise, with his natural abilities bound, it wasn't worth locking him up like that. It wasn't like he could do anything detrimental to them while devoid of even his base Maia abilities. Especially when he was under Lord Námo's ever watchful eye. That Vala didn't miss anything.

And to put him in a cell wouldn't be conductive to his healing, he'd been gently told when he'd finally mustered up the courage to ask Lady Nienna about it. He was here to be healed, not punished, all the Valar frequently reminded him. And, they would do whatever they could to help that happen.

As the two Maiar wandered along, pointing out to each other anything in the tapestries that caught their fancy, Mairon felt more at peace then he had for a long time. For the first time in literal Ages, he was enjoying the company of someone else without fear. Dinner had gone well, and Námo and Vairë's chief Maiar had accepted his presence in Mandos.

It was nice.

All too soon, despite the fact they were not hurrying, they reached the door to his room. There was an awkward silence as they stood there for a moment. Mairon finally broke it.

"Thank you for escorting me back?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, the copper-haired Maia winced. That sounded terrible. However, before he could say anything else, Marilwë spoke. She was looked everywhere but at him, her feet shifting restlessly.

"I apologise for my brother's behaviour at dinner. He's found the last few decades difficult. He didn't used to be like this. Fighting for the Hosts of the West during the War changed him."

Mairon looked at his own feet.

"I'm sorry."

He had seemed to say those words a lot since his return. They were all he had to offer in recompense for his actions under Melkor. But, they still seemed so inadequate to the pain he had caused those around him.

Marilwë's smile was sad.

"Not your fault Lord Manwë's brother went mental and tried dragging the rest of the world down with him. We're all still recovering from what he did to us. You weren't the only one he hurt, Mairon."

At the openly sceptical look she received, the female Maia sighed.

"I mean it. And, someday, I will explain exactly what I mean. But not right now. The pain is still too close. For us both, I think."

Looking at him, Marilwë gave a warm smile.

"Goodnight Mairon. I will see you again soon?"

Mairon hesitantly met her eyes. The calm acceptance and understanding in them eased his tight chest, his own lips twitching subconsciously upwards in response.

"Goodnight, Marilwë. I – think you will. If Lord Námo permits. And – thank you."

End of Chapter 1

NOTES for this story:

#1 Mairon is very sensitive to sunlight. The glare hurts his eyes if he is exposed to it for too long, and he does not like the way everything is illuminated. He also does not like pure darkness (Melkor used it to punish him, sensory deprivation stuff). He does best with soft lights, like the stars, the moon, or dimmed lamps. His room in Mandos has no windows, but is always lit with soft gold lamps, in deference to this.

#2 Mairon has a lot of physically scars that will be mentioned from time to time. The worse are the ones on his neck from Huan (he always wears high collars/scarves/hoods to hide it) but he has others all over his body. Estë heals some. But many are imprinted into his psych, due to the traumatic circumstances of how he got them. A few of the major one's tie into certain plot points and will be explored, but the majority will not be mentioned again. Just know he has LOTS of them, and those around him will not always react very well to the physical evidence of his past torment. Mairon, however, is normally not bothered by them.

#3 With permission from AzureSkye23 (whose wonderful stories inspired this flight-of-fancy), Olórin (Gandalf) and Mairon are brothers in this Universe. I have also made Arien, the Maia whom guides the sun, their older sister. This is purely my idea.

#4 When I refer to Námo masking his face, I mean he uses his power to hide his eyes and facial expressions so you can't tell what he is thinking or feeling. When I say he hides his face, that means you can't see it because of the deep hood he wears. All his robes are hooded in this way, and he always wears dark colours. Think of a blue/black/purple colour scheme.

#5 *Words between these symbols indicated the characters are speaking mind-to-mind*

And so it begins. This story is currently in three parts, but Part Three is unfinished. However, I figured I'd post Part One and see how we go. I hope to update twice a week or so, but we'll have to see what happens.

Anavantyar - to forgive