Chasing Mirages by Russandol

---

Trust

Eönwë asks a favour from Mairon. Unfortunately for him, events do not work out as planned.

 

---

 

6.    Trust

I did not see Mairon at all that day; I believe we both avoided each other. But the following morning I found him in the garden room petting Aranincë, whose name now I appreciated for the jest it was[1]. When I greeted my host, his guard came up at once.

‘I am surprised you still wish to exchange words with one you loathe for his relapse into evil, friend.’ He spat the title, which he had used often instead of my name. ‘Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable in my humble abode, while we await completion of my new Tol-in-Gaurhoth? Or are you here to forcefully drag me back to Aman?’

He lay back on the cushions, as though to dare me to attempt violence. Aranincë mewled and Mairon stroked him between the ears gently, burying his fingers in the beautiful dappled fur.

His sarcasm was only to be expected in the circumstances, and yet I found it hard to face such contempt, which felt far more scathing than anything he had spoken on the day I had arrived at his home. But I was undeterred.

‘I would request a favour from you,’ I said, rather too abruptly. I berated myself for my bluntness, brought about by a sudden twinge of uneasiness. Where was the apology that I had rehearsed a few hundred times in my head?

‘Such nerve! You have all but declared yourself my enemy,’ he sneered. ‘What makes you think I would grant anything to you?’

‘Because I have something to offer in return,’ I answered boldly. His speculative gaze betrayed his interest even before he offered me a seat by his side.

‘Speak, then.’

There was no room for hesitation. It had to be said with determination or he would not believe me.

‘I wish to sample what you offer the ahaw. Once only, I will submit to you.’

The spark in his eyes told me he was certainly attracted by this proposition, as I knew he would.

‘Why, Eönwë?’ Cautious indeed, as ever.

‘I have to learn more about this… art, Chakmóol called it.’

‘You have to or you wish to?’ He studied me carefully.

‘Both. I am bound to live as an Incarnate, I need to know. But I have also discovered that my hröa wishes to find out more. You know this too.’

Mairon reminded me of a cat that is about to pounce on a mouse, but I did not balk at his predatory look. Returning to Mandos by way of being tortured to death was not an appealing prospect. Yet, it was a gamble I was prepared to take if it would help me find the truth about him.

His expression became guarded again.

‘I cannot help you.’ I had not expected his refusal; I was about to object but he spoke on. ‘You believed me once and allowed my freedom. But now you do not, and I do not trust you either.’ I heard regret in his words.

‘I do, at least…’ My hesitation bellied my assurance. He rose nimbly to his feet and Aranincë bared his fangs at me and growled.

‘Let me prove it to you!’ I protested. He merely shook his head and left.

I was both disappointed and relieved. I felt rather guilty, too. Mairon had welcomed me, opened his arms to place me as a friend at his side, so that I could share the respect he had earned for himself amongst the people of Kiinlúum. He had showed me everything he was, proved the truth of his words of contrition. Yet I had wasted no time before I thought the worst and threw grave accusations at him, instead of probing deeper in a civilised manner as to the reasons for his unusual association with Chakmóol. Mostly because of secret fears about my own bizarre reaction, I admitted to myself.

A fortnight passed. I did not bring up the matter again, and neither did Mairon. As if by mutual agreement we kept out of each other’s way. I espied Chakmóol leaving his rooms twice but did not question him further.

I tried to merely push the incident out of my mind, but somehow it kept invading my thoughts, bold and amplified, always accompanied of a rush of heat that stirred me in an unexplained but delicious manner. I could not stop myself from recalling Chakmóol’s lithe body and Mairon’s dominance over the ahaw every time I gratified myself, despite my vows to bury those images for ever.

A few days later, Mairon relented and bid me dine with him. As we used to, we talked frankly about general matters, gossiped about the latest court affairs and argued about politics and about fascinating traits in the Children’s behaviour. To finish our meal, we drank a sweet, fiery brew that Mairon favoured, distilled from oranges and much stronger than wine; with it we shared dates and his favourite almond pastries.

Our conversation flew easily and we enjoyed ourselves. I was glad things seemed to have returned to a semblance of normalcy. Almost. A shadow lingered between us, and I was determined to clear it.

‘Mairon, I owe you an apology...’ I offered at last. He looked at me over the edge of the glass he held, his eyes analysing my every gesture.

‘I doubted your intentions and drew hasty conclusions. Though I still fail to understand the truth of what transpires between you and Chakmóol, I wronged you.’ I felt better, even if the apology came out more clumsily than I had intended.

Mairon reached out with his hand and grasped my shoulder.

‘All is well, then. Forget about what you saw.’ He seemed mildly pleased, but I still felt the invisible barrier between us. No matter how civilly we behaved to each other, the earlier ease of our friendship had been shattered by my outburst.

‘I trust you.’ I chanted to myself that I believed my words. I fully wished to, at least.

‘Truly?’ Mairon could not hide his scepticism.

‘Yes.’ I bit my lip nervously.

‘You know better than most what I, once Mairon, now reviled as the Abhorred, am capable of. Would you be willing to risk life and limb at my hands?’

His voice sounded strangely deep and the room around me seemed to recede, while a stream of visions of past horrors flashed in my mind, a touch of ósanwë that made me reel with shock.

‘I would, if I must,’ I insisted, as firmly as I could.

He appraised me thoughtfully. Then he dipped the tip of his little finger inside his glass goblet, and I watched an amber swirl flow slowly from it into the clear liquid. He offered the goblet to me. I took it with a trembling hand and, after a brief hesitation, drank its contents in one long gulp. Poison be damned, I reassured myself. He could have poured anything into my drink a thousand times before and he had not.

Mairon smiled brightly and I sighed with relief; proving my faith had been easier than I had feared. He sat back and began to ask me about the method I was deploying to increase the vigilance over the Northern frontier, where trouble had recently begun to stir.

Soon a warm, soothing laziness seized my limbs, and my head felt heavy; my speech slurred, my sight blurred, and my senses began to abandon me while I stared blankly at the twinkling stars outside the balcony and heard the silver of Mairon's rich voice. My last conscious thought was one of alarm, but the bells rang far too late.

~o~

 

I blinked in the harsh light and at once knew that something was wrong, but it took me a moment to regain my wits and begin to assess my environment. I was lying on a very hard surface, cold and uninviting. The sluggish memory of my sudden slumber on soft silk cushions came back as I numbly stared at the shackles around my wrists, fastened to a long chain that hung from above. These were no jewelled bracelets, but crude, sharp-edged, heavy manacles, the likes of which I had only seen in Angamando.

When I overcame the utter shock at this discovery, I heard behind me the soft scratch of a quill on parchment.

I tried to move my feet, but they were also bound. The confinement felt unbearable, almost as oppressive as Angainor had been. True fear, like a cold snake constricting my gut, begun to slither towards my chest and my throat.

‘Release me!’ I would have shouted, but I only managed a pitiful squeak.

The quill stopped and a chair moved on the floor. ‘So, you are awake at last. Then we can start.’

‘Start what?’ I croaked. My body responded slowly when I tried to raise my head, no doubt because of the effects of whatever foul substance he had conjured into my drink.

Before I could even sit up, Mairon had winched the chain from a pulley attached to the ceiling. I found myself hanging from my overstretched arms, on my knees, inside a wide circle of dazzling lamps, roughly level with my eyes, beyond which I could discern nothing but darkness. My ankles were fastened to rings on the floor, about two feet apart from each other. I struggled briefly, tried to stand but there was not enough slack to do so.

From some slight noises I guessed he was still somewhere behind me.

‘Where are we? How dare you bring me here… I thought you said…’ He approached silently until he towered over me.

‘Silence!’ he bellowed.

Without warning he backhanded me across the face and I swung helplessly from the chain. I began to cry in outrage but he merely walked away and a door slammed shut. My tirade died when I heard a key turn in the lock.

I grew tired and sore from attempting to wriggle my hands free, while cursing my captor loudly. I wrestled down my rising fear until it stopped overwhelming me, as I had done before battling Moringotto, and waited. A short while later I heard the sounds that proclaimed someone had entered again. Mairon stepped into the light.

If I had named Chakmóol beautiful there were no words left to describe the exquisite sight before me. Mairon's hair was gathered in a single plait which almost reached the small of his back. He was only clad in wide black trousers, and his bare chest and arms seemed to glimmer as though his skin were dusted with gold, under which the powerful muscles of a smith were revealed in all their glorious might. The only flaw was a long crescent of scars, the mark of Huan’s teeth on his left shoulder. He was no longer able to recreate himself in an unmarred form.

‘I will leave at once unless you are more inclined to behave in a civil manner,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Civil manner?’ I was bursting with rage. ‘What is civil about this…?’ When he made to stride back towards the door, I stopped abruptly.

He turned round, considered me for a long moment and at last came back closer. His hand settled on my head and swept down my hair, almost tenderly. Suddenly he twisted his fingers into it, pulling down harshly until our eyes met. Tears came unbidden at the pain on my scalp. He was unmoved by my angry glare.

‘Long have I dreamt of having you on your knees before me, Herald. I never imagined one day you would willingly walk into my embrace.’ He spoke softly, but there was venom in his voice. In his eyes flickered a black flame of joy.

A ripple of terror clenched my gut. This was no longer the pleasant, civilised smith and advisor to the ruler of Kiinlúum, but the evil lord of old. I cursed myself for the folly of having deceived myself to believe he could have become a simple merchant, a citizen like any other, despite the many accounts of his ruthless cruelty, up to a mere few years in the past.

With a final painful yank, he released my hair and crouched next to me.

‘You regret having trusted me. In Beleriand and now,’ he whispered in my ear, as if my mind lay open to him. ‘I am disappointed.’

He raised his hand before my eyes and I watched in terrified fascination as his fingers turned into a clump of long coils of fire, sizzling red, exactly like those of a Valarauco. He brought the writhing tentacles ever closer to my face until I feared their searing heat would scorch my eyes. I remained as still and mute as stone, holding my breath, while he played this dangerous game.

Never before had I felt so overwhelmed by a fear so deep that I could not order my thoughts. The world had shrunk to the dance of fire before my eyes and his dreadful presence behind it. Once again, my mind had fallen prey to the primal reactions of my hröa. Trapped within this shape, I was a coward.

‘Maybe you once believed I had been humbled by the wrath of your masters, Herald; now you will learn the extent of my might,’ he purred.

The tendrils of fire faded and were replaced by claws, sharp as those of the mountain lions we had hunted together. He curled them slowly one by one so that I could appreciate their razor edges, which he used to slice effortlessly through my tunic and shirt, baring my chest. Then he lightly placed his claws on the pulse on my throat, almost tenderly, and traced them down past my collarbone, until they rested over my heart. I was paralysed, almost not daring to breathe.

A small pressure drew a single drop of blood from each tip, a crescent of five molten rubies that swelled slowly and began to race down my chest. He followed their way, scratching slightly so that my skin itched without breaking, and I found myself tensing my belly as the lethal claws circled my navel excruciatingly slowly before making their way back up my chest.

‘Finally, I have before me the chance to exact sweet revenge upon the Lord of the West,' he smiled unpleasantly. 'Admittedly you are a poor substitute for your master, but I will nonetheless relish the pleasure of watching you writhe under my touch…’

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. This was probably a good thing, lest I should be tempted to beg him to stop.

He removed his fingers, which began to turn to their normal shape, but were trailed by silver sparks that crackled loudly against my skin; the sharp tang of ozone permeated the air. I watched the terrifying display of his power unable to move, willing myself to ignore the growing needle-like tingling on my chest, verging on piercing pain. Panic was flaring within, twisting my gut and speeding my heart. I knew he could stop its beating completely if he wished to, and I braced myself for my hröa’s death.

Instead, he stood and moved away like a shadow, leaving behind five dark itchy marks on my skin. I was panting and shaking, and fought in desperation against the manacles, pulling with all my might, oblivious to the chafing of my skin. I knew this to be a vain battle even before I started.

‘Ai, my poor Eönwë. Do you know that not even Findekáno could break my bonds, those I forged for Maitimo at my lord’s request? Like him, you are to offer a sacrifice, a token that may purchase my goodwill and maybe allow you to walk away alive tonight.’

I shuddered when Mairon’s fingers wrapped around my right wrist and squeezed it painfully, meaningfully.

‘Surely your courage matches that of the son of Fëanáro?’

Obeying his silent command, the shackle imprisoning my hand detached itself from the chain and my arm fell heavily. I lifted it to embrace my chest protectively, and moved it clumsily to rub the numbness off.

Mairon placed a large block of wood before me; then he unsheathed a long curved sword that glinted lethally in the lamplight.

‘Bring your hand here.’

I looked at him incredulously, wrapping my arm tighter around my chest. My heart raced wildly.

‘Your hand, Eönwë,’ he repeated coldly.

‘No, you cannot mean…’ I managed to stutter at last.

‘I said, put your wrist on the block!’

The compelling urgency in his command made me lift my head to look at his face. His mouth had quirked into a grimace, and in his eyes flashed what looked like pain, rather than hate.

I gasped in belated understanding.

‘Life and limb, Eönwë,’ echoed his earlier words.

I had vowed to prove my faith and this, no less, was the drastic proof he demanded. To place my right hand at his mercy, the hand of the hröa that I had mastered, even begun to grow fond of, or otherwise fail his test and forsake our friendship.

I hesitated, confused; panicked arguments clashed and warred within my mind. Was he a friend feigning to be a foe or the other way round? Sauron the Abhorred or Mairon Yúum Síihbalóob? Was this in truth a trial of my trust or vengeance for my accusation, as he had led me to believe until this very final instant? I was terrified, uncertain of his true intentions, but compelled to believe he would not harm me.

At length, gathering all remaining shreds of willpower, I extended my trembling arm and, watching as if it belonged to someone else, I placed my shackled wrist upon the smooth surface. Slowly I spread my fingers over the wood, to feel them better one last time. Had I misjudged his intentions? I looked away from my limb and into his eyes, in supplication, but his gaze was fixed intently onto my splayed hand.

He raised the heavy sword high above his head. I closed my eyes and tensed my body, bracing myself against the pain that would come if I was mistaken. The swish of the blade on its fall and the thump that followed were undoubtedly the most terrifying sounds I had ever heard while in this hröa.

I felt nothing, except for a surge of blessed relief. My heartbeats echoed in my throat and within my head, so loud they were. I dared open my eyes. The sword had missed the tip of my middle finger by a hair’s breadth. I was shaking violently, and would have collapsed, had it not been for the chain that still held me upright. Mairon released my left hand and my feet, but I was too shocked to move. Grasping me under my arms, he helped me slowly to my feet.

So perfect and so close, his shape stirred profound swirls of longing in my own hröa; an attraction, I realised, wrought by our own corporeal forms and never experienced as one of the Ainur. An urge awoke in me to caress the imperfection on his shoulder, to touch it with my lips and make it vanish.

Mairon steadied me and only loosened his grasp when he was certain I would not fall.

‘Are you well?’ he asked.

‘Never better!’ I almost laughed hysterically at his genuine concern, so utterly unbefitting the dark foe I had faced moments before. ‘Though in the future I will think twice before asking you a favour.’

‘Will you still require my assistance, despite all?’ he queried smoothly. I perceived his eagerness, barely curbed behind a brief smile. ‘I shall be honoured to give you what you asked for, if you still wish it.’

He leant his face forward; his kiss on my cheek, that of a kinsman, sent tingling tendrils all over my body.

‘Tomorrow…’ he began.

‘Now, Mairon!’ I interrupted hoarsely, still shaken. I freed myself from his arms and staggered to stand unaided. He stepped back, perhaps surprised at my earnestness.

I was tired of waiting and guessing, furious at the harshness of his trial, and secretly embarrassed at how terror had dulled my perception. The least Mairon could do after such trickery was to fulfil his part of the deal.

He stroked my face slowly with the back of his hand, cool and soft like the wing of an eagle. This was the very first time anyone had showed me affection in this way and I savoured the novel sensation, even more because it was his touch. I looked at him questioningly when his fingers trailed down my neck and gripped my shoulder tightly.

‘Will you be mine until dawn?’

‘I will,’ I replied firmly. ‘I will learn your art, and taste freedom bought by binding myself to you. Do anything you wish, as long as you do not maim my hröa and I am alive and free to leave when the sun rises. That is all I ask.’

‘You would truly give yourself unconditionally to me tonight, your first time?’

Within his measured, smooth voice I detected a timbre of barely hidden greediness. Not for the first time he reminded me of a predator about to devour its prey. Danger tingled alluringly in my gut and I wavered briefly.

‘I have proven my faith. Will you not honour your part of the bargain?’ I argued boldly. ‘I do not wish to taste half measures; I want all, within the bounds I have spoken.’

He raised his eyebrows at my vehement challenge; then his lips sketched a slow smile.

‘So be it, friend,’ he answered at last.

He inclined his head and I returned the gesture to seal our agreement. His eyes sparked with anticipation. My trust had meant much, that was clear now, but he truly desired more. I sighed with relief, happy with my decision despite lingering doubts about his reasons to seek my submission.

Again, he caressed my face ever so lightly, this time with both hands, as if exploring the shape of a fragile, treasured object, while we both searched for answers in each other’s eyes. I found pride and something I had never seen before, a kind of tenderness. I soaked up this precious moment, until he withdrew his hands.

I trembled like a leaf, unable to control my mounting apprehension. There was no turning back now.

 

 

 

Notes:

[1] aranincë (Quenya) little king

 

---

Chapter End Notes

[1] aranincë (Quenya) little king