Mairon sank to the ground when Melkor left, wrapping his arms around his knees, fighting tears. He did not want to be a traitor, but the fallen Vala's obvious interest on him was taking its toll. He was tired of being afraid all the time, never knowing when Melkor would find him, or if he would become tired of waiting, and carry out some of his threats against those Mairon cared about…

"Mairon?"

The voice of his lord had the small Maia's head snapping up, blood draining from his face as he realized Aulë must have seen everything. But there was compassion and concern on the Vala's face, not condemnation.

"Oh, Mairon," Aulë said softly, coming to kneel beside his Maia. "Why did you not tell me Melkor was paying you attention?"

Mairon couldn't answer, as his tears chose that moment to refuse to be restrained any longer. He felt Aulë pull him into an embrace, and he knew, despite how many would now need to be protected from Melkor's fury, that everything would be alright now.

Mairon froze as the point of a blade entered his line of sight, the sharp edge now resting against his neck.

"Get him out of there," a rough voice ordered from behind him, brooking no opposition. Mairon stared at Maedhros as he hung by his wrist, wondering just who it was who had come to rescue him. He could free the Elf, yes, as he had been the one to forge the band which held him, but the consequences when Morgoth learned of this…

"Come with us," Maedhros said, seeing the internal debate on the Maia's face. "If protection can be found with us, you are welcome to it. If not, surely there is a distance place you can run to and be free of him. But surely anywhere is better than here."

Mind made up, Mairon moved swiftly, startling Fingon and nearly losing his head for it. With a quick bit of Song, he had Maedhros free, and had turned again to face the other Elf, heart racing with anticipation and nervousness.

"Let's go," he said.

Annatar studied his ruined right hand, with a detached yet overwhelming sorrow. A warrior may learn to fight with only one hand, yet a craftsman needed both…he would never smith again. Somehow, this hurt worse than the rest of his abused and tortured fána. Slowly, he raised his eyes from his hand to the Elf who had placed him in this condition.

"Why did you come here, Sauron?" Celebrimbor hissed furiously. "What were you after?" The Elf grabbed the Maia and shook him, and as good as Sauron was at hiding his emotions, he could not hold back a cry of pain. When he could speak again, he met the Elf's furious eyes, his own glazed with pain.

"You have a past you wish to move past and have all forget," he said softly. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that I am the same?"

Any thoughts the wolf still had shattered with the pain that came when the hound who held him by the neck slammed him into the ground. The cloak the elleth wore had confused him enough he had lost control of the form he had worn, and he had shifted back to the wolf-form he normally took. No larger than his opponent, he had been nimble enough to evade the hound for a time, but the hound had gained the upper hand, injuring him badly.

Now he lay, dazed, confused, and in pain. There was something in his neck, and it hurt… He needed hands. Shifting back to a form that had them, he reached up feebly, finding the spikes embedded in his neck. He tugged on them weakly, but they did not move. He let his hand drop.

Distantly, he felt the pressure on his neck lessen as he was lowered to the ground, and the spikes slid out of his neck. A warm, wet nose carefully slid under his chin, pushing it up, and Huan gently began to lick the crimson wounds he'd torn in the Maia's pale flesh.

The small Maia drowsed on the Vala's chest as his lord slowly stroked his hair.

"He really is quite adorable," the Vala confided to his brother, who sat beside him. "Though I am still not sure why he was serving Aulë. They were poorly matched. For all the talent this little one has in smith-craft, he does best with a good amount of praise and physical contact. Aulë is not prone to giving either one to those who follow him."

"Which is why you convinced him to serve you instead as fast as you feasibly could," Manwë said, raising his eyebrows.

"He really is quite adorable," Melkor murmured, an unrepentant grin on his face.

The Dragon raged across the battleground, unstoppable, spreading chaos and destruction across the lines of Men, Elves, and Maiar who had been so close to taking Angband and winning the War of Wrath. But Morgoth had held this Maia in reserve, and now they were in retreat. Not even bright Eärendil had been able to fell him. Now Eönwë, greatest with arms in Arda, stepped forward to face him, pain on his fair face. The Dragon paused for just a moment, memories he could not truly remember seeming to say he knew this Maia…

Eönwë took advantage of his distraction and struck, and the Maia who had once been his best friend died on his sword.

If the Dragon could have still remembered who he had once been, he would have thanked Eönwë.