Aule's Dilemma by Uvatha the Horseman  

The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

March was about to turn into April, and the weather, although fickle, was finally warm enough for people to enjoy being outside.

In the Forge, Aulë the Smith pulled the glowing metal from the fire. The iron glowed yellow-orange on the anvil. He raised the hammer and considered the blow before striking, when Rhosfindel, his Chief Maia and second-in-command, interrupted.

"Master Aulë, a new group of Maiar has arrived. Three youngsters, newly descended into the physical world."

Aulë sighed. It was easier to ignore the interruption and finish the task he'd just started, but while they were talking, the iron had cooled. He set it aside and laid down his hammer to go deal with the interruption. He could have hung up his leather apron, but he would have had to find a shirt.

Aulë needed Maiar servants for everything from sculpting mountain ranges to delivering a bag of nails to a customer. As one of the greatest of the Valar, he ran a fairly large household. Most of his Maiar were apprentices, ranging in skill from beginner to highly proficient. There were also alumni who'd gone off on their own and sometimes stopped by to visit. He'd greet them with a nod or a grunt, but privately, he was delighted to see them.

Aulë followed his Chief Maia outside where the new arrivals waited. He looked at the small group assembled before him. There were three of them, a slender girl, a medium-sized boy, and a tall, gangly boy. They all had red hair, according to a custom that had grown up among Aulë's apprentices.

The new arrivals had no useful skills at all, other than performing their duties as Ainur, the Holy Ones, singing in the Celestial choir. They may have known all the verses to countless hymns, but other than that, they were as ignorant as dirt. They didn't know a thing about splitting kindling and bringing it inside, which was what he needed them for at the moment. Plus, training them took time away from his preferred task of forging useful and sometimes beautiful things.

He surveyed the small group assembled before him. The girl was a rose-gold shade of blonde, the medium-sized boy burnished copper, and the tall one had reddish-brown hair.

"You can't work here without a name. I'd have trouble summoning you from across the room or remembering who I talked to last. I'll call you Rose, Copper, and Bronze for now. When I've gotten to know who you are, I'll give you a name that suits you better."

He always tried to find a word that fit them better. For example, his second Chief Maia had been Curumo, "the Skillful one'" and the third one was Rhosfindel, for "Redhead." With a pang, Aulë realized he'd never given his third Chief Maia a proper name. Maybe he should have picked something like "Good-Natured" or "Long-Suffering."

"Let's start with the basics. When we're in the physical world, we wear clothes. Let's get you suited up."

Rhosfindel stood by with an armload of linen garments dyed in shades of russet or umber, earth colors for earth spirits. He gave each newcomer a tunic, a belt, small clothes, leggings, and soft leather shoes.

"And when you're working, which will be most of every day, you'll wear a leather apron. Being in physical form is constraining enough. I don't want to wear clothing too."

Bronze stuck his lip out.

"And yet, you'll wear them. And shoes. You could step on a shard of metal or a bent nail. And do you know why that's bad? Because I don't want to clean up the blood." Aulë knew he came across as gruff.

He would warn them of the many ways they could get hurt. They would forget, and he would warn them again. And when they did get hurt, he would, of course, console the crying youngster and patch them up before he did anything else. They'd learn that the first time they hurt themselves on hot metal or a sharp tool.

Aulë spent a fair amount of time training the new Maiar servants who came to work in the Forge. Teaching took away from shaping metal into useful and beautiful things, but both were important.

As the new apprentices grew in competence and maturity, they would take over for his more senior servants who left for whatever reason: to serve a different master, to strike out on their own, or to go to war. Unlike other Valar, he seemed to burn through Maiar like cordwood.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë led the newcomers across the courtyard to the Mansions of Aulë. The Mansions of Aulë was a vast compound, three stories tall, addition upon addition. Extensions from the main building wrapped around a central courtyard. The Forge had its own wing.

The tall double doors were bound with iron strap-hinges, the decorative curlicues suggesting the branches of a tree. Aulë pulled the door handle. The massive door swung open on silent hinges as if it had no weight at all.

Inside the paneled entry hall, a broad staircase led to the upper floors. Walnut paneling, dark with age, covered every wall from floor to ceiling.

"What is that list, carved into the panel next to the stairs?" asked Rose.

She pointed to a panel carved with a list of names. Aulë normally avoided looking at it. Some of the Maiar named on it were no longer here.

Aulë kept his voice steady. "Those are the names of every Maia who ever served here, in the order they joined the household. Once you've settled in, I'll include your names on the panel, too."

Aulë led them deeper into the house. The dining hall had a high vaulted ceiling. A row of iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling over the table, spaced an arm's span apart. Each held half a dozen beeswax candles. The table ran almost the length of the room.

Brightly colored murals decorated the walls. "Do you recognize those images? You should. They're scenes from the Ainulindalë, the Creation of the World. Since you took part in the Ainulindalë, they should all be familiar to you."

"At least to those of you who paid attention through the whole thing." Rose and Copper exchanged a nervous look.

"But back to the here and now. There are a number of Maiar in the Mansions at any one time, but we need at least that many to run a house this size. You're here to learn the craft and to support me as smiths, but you'll also work as household servants."

Aulë led the newcomers through the door to kitchens, The thick door jamb revealed that the walls in this part of the Mansions were as wide as old-growth tree trunks. He ducked under the lintel and motioned for the others to follow.

"Watch your heads. That means you, Bronze. The ceilings are low, and the ceiling beams are lower."

Soot blackened the wall over the fireplace, as well as the ceiling beams above it. The floor had settled over time, making it slope towards the windows. A split of firewood under one leg of the worktable kept it level. He waited until they had all assembled inside, the three newcomers with Rhosfindel shepherding them from the back.

"You are standing in the oldest part of the Mansion, built when we cut a clearing in the forest and built these walls from the fallen trees. Look up, and you'll notice the ceiling beams are rough-hewn logs. You can still see the tool marks on them. The original Forge was housed in here, hearth and bellows and anvils."

"You can still see the ghost of the first Forge. Look on the slate floor for the outlines of the massive fireplaces and chimneys, and of workbenches that were built against the walls. In the earliest days, we kept our tools, and the hearth sheltered under a roof, even when we ourselves slept outdoors. Iron rusts. We don't."

"I only minded when it rained," said Rhosfindel.

Aulë continued with the tour. "Look around. Get familiar with the kitchens. You're going to spend a lot of time here. Besides your lessons in the Forge, which will take most of the day, you'll cook and serve meals, and do the washing up afterwards.

Copper whispered to Rose, "Now I get it. Maiar are slaves."

Aulë glared at them. "Maia means servant, it doesn't mean slave. You can leave whenever you want." Which some of his people had done: to join other households, to explore the world, to fight in the wars. It was their right to move around, but he still felt hurt whenever one of his people left.

There was a loud crack. "Ow!" Bronze rubbed his forehead. A red mark appeared above his eyebrow.

Aulë spoke sternly. "I warned you that would happen. When we're next in the Forge, I'm going to tell you not to touch grey metal and to think before handling sharp tools. Will you listen to me then?"

Bronze wasn't listening, as far as Aulë could tell. The new apprentice stared at the blackened beam where his head had struck, tracing the wood with his fingers.

"Are you blaming your injury on the beam? Somehow, I don't think it was at fault," said Aulë.

Bronze said, "There's something written here. It looks like a pair of initials."

Under the soot, the letters MA were carved into the side of the beam closest to the fireplace, the letters intertwined in a pleasing symmetrical design. Aulë's throat tightened.

"Who was MA?" asked Bronze.

"He was my first Maia, and the most gifted apprentice I ever taught. He went to war and never returned." Aulë kept his voice steady, but it was hard.

"What happened?" Bronze looked grave.

Aulë held up a hand. "Enough said. We don't talk about him under this roof."

In the back of the group, Rhosfindel whispered to Copper, "He can't come home because he committed war crimes. He'd be arrested the moment he set foot on our shores." Aulë shot him a look that could freeze fire.

They left the kitchens and made their way back to the Front Hall. Yavanna appeared in a doorway. Aulë's heart leapt. He hadn't expected her back so soon, not in the beginning of April when the farmlands and meadows of Arda, an ocean away, needed her attention.

She wore a green dress, closely fitted, with a wreath of wildflowers on her head. Her hair, the color of rich dark earth, hung in waves to her waist. There were women more beautiful than she, or of higher rank, but none were more beloved to him.

"This is my lady wife. You will address her as Lady Yavanna, or My Lady for short. You are my Maiar servants and not hers. She has Maiar of her own. But if she asks you to do something, like move heavy furniture or fetch something from upstairs, you will do it." The three apprentices nodded solemnly.

Aulë told his Chief Maia to take the new arrivals up to the dormitory and show them where they would sleep. The dormitory was in the attic of the Mansions, in a crowded space under the rafters. Narrow cots had been crammed together wherever they would fit. Aulë had all his apprentices sleep in the dormitory. He believed that being made to live in close quarters would force them to learn how to get along.

Their footfalls faded as the group climbed to the third floor, leaving Aulë alone in the dark-paneled front hall with his lady. He gathered her in his arms and kissed her hair. She smelled of wildflowers and moss and new-turned earth.

"Your body feels like a clenched fist," she said.

"One of the new people noticed Mairon's initials carved into a beam in the kitchen, long-since hidden under the soot. I'd forgotten it was there."

"How are you feeling about that?" Yavanna asked.

     I don't want to talk about my feelings. I'd rather hit my own thumb with a hammer, repeatedly.

She waited, watching him with kind eyes.

"I disowned him when I learned what he did. Since then, I've worked hard not to think of him at all." Aulë pulled away to end the conversation. She held on.

"Try harder."

"I'm angry. I'm disappointed. I have trouble believing he was capable of such terrible crimes. Of all the apprentices I've ever had, he was my favorite. I could … it's just that … When I think about what happened, I want to choke him to death with my bare hands."

The group came back downstairs, a clattering of feet on the stairway treads heralding their appearance. Aulë let go of his wife.

"We'll talk later." She squeezed his arm and slipped away.

Aulë took the newcomers on a tour of the Forge, where they would learn the craft and, hopefully, if they had a vocation for it and put in the work, they would gain a high level of skill.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

The Forge occupied an entire wing of the Mansions of Aulë, one of the two arms that wrapped around a central courtyard, and was at least two stories high.

The faint smell of wood smoke reached them as they crossed the courtyard, and the tink, tink of hammers against anvils was like music.

An unusually large forge stood in the middle of the courtyard. The chimney, hearth, and the working area in front of the hearth were of brick. At the moment, it was empty and cold.

"The Forge is outside, in the courtyard?" asked Rose.

"We use that forge for demonstrations. We often have visitors who want to see what we do here," said Aulë.

Aulë led them to the newest wing of the Mansions, where the Forge was housed. The smell of wood smoke and the ring of hammers met them before they reached the building. Aulë pulled open the outer door. It was dark inside. Fires burned in the many hearths, where the orange light outlined the black silhouettes of workers and their tools.

The smell of wood smoke was stronger inside. The noise of hammers on metal, the roar of the bellows, and occasional cursing, filled the space. Slate flagstones covered the floor, and the bricks above the hearths were blackened with soot.

Aulë waited a moment to let the newcomers' eyes adjust. The Forge looked gritty and dark, but it was a marvel of tools and machinery. He took pride because the fittings in the Forge, the door hinges, latches, and tool racks, were extremely well made. The ones made by Curumo, his Chief Maia before Rhosfindel, stood out for their sinuous lines and delicate ornamentation. Aulë had noticed that the style of Curumo's work had influenced the Aulëndil. It was said they'd continued using it at homes back home in Arda.

He led the newcomers into a long room lined with identical brick forges. Each had a chimney against the wall with a semi-circular opening for the hearth, a broad hearth for laying finished work to cool, and in front, a rack for tongs. Each forge had its own anvil, vise, and barrel of water for quenching hot metal.

"This is the classroom where you'll have your lessons."

Opposite each forge was a workbench, with racks holding small tools like files and chisels, and a large slate board mounted on the wall above it. One of them was being used as a place to display schematic drawings.

"Once you become skilled in the craft and doing your own projects, you'll spend as much time planning the design as making it. You can also draw on the floor. It's made of slates for that reason."

Aulë let them look around for a few minutes, and then took them to the next room, the shop floor where the senior smiths worked.

"After you leave the schoolroom, you'll begin your real work of making useful things for the rest of the community, and this is where that work will take place." Aulë made a sweeping gesture at the space.

The hearths were larger here. Many of them were in use, and the ringing of the anvils filled the large space.

Racks of tools covered the walls, and lifting mechanisms, such as pulleys and jacks, showed that they sometimes worked on massively large pieces.

At the forges, Aulë's Maiar worked on various projects, their heads bent over their work. Almost all of them had red hair, in shades from ginger to red fox to dark auburn.

Aulë led them to an anvil where two smiths were working. One struck a tool with a hammer while the other held the glowing metal with tongs.

"Much of what we do requires three hands: punching a hole, cutting with a chisel, stamping a maker's mark. The smith swings the hammer, and his helper holds the tongs. That's what you as new apprentices will do, when you're not chopping wood or working the bellows.

The smith with the hammer paused in his work and nodded respectfully. A copper circlet perched on Mahtan's copper-colored hair, and although he looked young for one of the Elves, he wore a close-trimmed beard.

Aulë introduced him. "This is Mahtan, one of the Elven craftsmen, a smith of extraordinary skill."

Aulë bent to examine the work on the anvil, a decorative piece made of copper. The thickness was uniform throughout the bend; the corners were crisp, and no hammer marks showed. More to the point, he'd done it quickly, while they watched.

"That's truly impressive work, Mairon. You continue to impress me."

"Mairon?" Mahtan looked puzzled.

"Mahtan. I meant Mahtan." Aulë's cheeks burned. He was glad for a ruddy complexion that hid it. "Bronze, Copper, Rose, do you have any more questions about the Forge?"

"What's behind that door? It looks like it leads to an interior space with no windows." asked Copper.

"That's the workspace we call the Vault. It's where we work on things that are to be done in secret. The chain Angainor, for example."

They were youngsters. Aulë knew they'd try to break in unless they thought there was nothing to see. There wasn't anything secret going on in there right now, so he lifted the spell and let the door swing open.

He stepped aside to let them look. The small, confined room held a forge identical to the ones on the shop floor, a workbench, and a desk. There were no papers on the desk, and the wall-mounted chalkboard had been wiped clean. Their slack faces suggested they'd lost interest and were ready to move on.

"If we're done in here, let's have a look at the village down the road, on the edge of the property."

Aulë addressed the group. "Let's step outside and see the village." They went through the great outer doors and crossed the courtyard. Just outside the grounds of the Mansions were a dozen thatched cottages, each with a tidy garden. Smoke curled from the chimneys of several of them.

"Those are the guesthouses where the visiting Elven smiths, the Aulëndil, are housed."

Rose wrinkled her nose. "Do they have nice because they're guests, or are they forbidden into the Mansions because they aren't Ainur like us?"

"That's a good question, and the answer is neither.

"It's an interesting story. When the Aulëndil, the Noldor Elves who came here to study, first arrived, I tried to treat everybody the same."

    I've been accused of playing favorites, meaning Mairon, and later, Mahtan. I wasn't playing favorites. I just like them better than the others.

"I had them eat with us in the dining hall and sleep in the dormitory. I thought everyone was happy with the arrangement until Mahtan approached me with the nervous look of one chosen by the others to register a complaint.

"'Master Aulë, we are deeply honored to study with you. However, we cannot maintain the austerity practiced by the Ainur, the Holy Ones. I'm sorry, but it's just too hard.'

"Austerity? I had no idea what he was talking about.

Mahtan explained. 'We eat the same tasteless food every day. The water for washing is always cold. We sleep on hard, narrow cots in a room with no heat. We Elves are used to cooking with a variety of ingredients, sleeping in soft beds with bed curtains, and when it's cold or damp, we have a fire in the fireplace.'

"I was stunned. Most of the Ainur felt no need to show holiness. We'd sung in the celestial choir for eons, and we were ready to take a break."

"You speak the truth," Bronze muttered. Rose and Bronze nodded.

"I said to him that even when in physical form, we Ainur are spirits. We don't seek physical luxuries because we get nothing from them. Anyway, the village sprang up because I let the Aulëndil build their own houses and live as they saw fit. So that's how the village came about."

A road led out of the village and disappeared into the forest. In the distance, tendrils of smoke rose above the trees, suggesting a settlement much larger than this one.

"That smoke? What's at the end of that road?" asked Copper.

"The road leads to Valmar, the capital of Valinor. In the winter, when the leaves are off, you can see lights from the dwelling. Market Days are held there, and so are the festivals.

"But the most important place in Valmar is the Circle of Doom, where the Council of Valar meets. It's where the most unforgivable crimes are tried and judgment passed. You don't want to be summoned there, ever."

Rose wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

"If you pay attention in class and put your tools away when you finish work, you won't be called before the Council."

Copper looked terrified.

"Copper, relax. It was a joke. The Valar will only arrest you for crimes like insurrection or treason."

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë had fallen behind on his work. Greeting the new arrivals occupied most of the day. He returned to the Forge after the rest of the household had gone to bed to finish the piece he'd been working on when the new arrivals interrupted his work.

He crossed the courtyard. Blue twilight had given way to full darkness, and the overcast hid the stars and waning moon.

The Forge was completely dark inside. He lit an oil lamp and carried it to his accustomed workspace on the shop floor. The hearth had been swept bare of ashes, and the tools cleaned and oiled. The slate board held a working drawing of his design, the chalk lines crisp and straight.

Aulë lit an oil lamp to hang over his workbench. He could see the tongs rack and the anvil in firelight from the hearth. He arranged charcoal in the long, narrow firepot and lit it, then worked the bellows to make the flames leap high. It would be a few minutes before the coals were hot enough for forging.

While he waited, he retrieved the piece he'd been working on, checked it against the chalkboard drawing, and mentally rehearsed what he was going to do. When the coals glowed orange, he laid the iron on them to heat and pulled it out when it too glowed orange.

The repetitive blows of the hammer on iron lulled him into a meditative state. There was no sound except for the rain on the roof and the crackle of the embers. He needed this badly. He felt calm for the first time since what happened in the kitchens that morning.

A sharp, insistent knocking on the outer door shattered his peace. Aulë set down his hammer and unbolted it to find Manwë, Lord of the Eagles, on his doorstep.

If Manwë wanted to speak to him, he would summon him to the Circle of Doom or to his home atop Mount Taniquetil. For lesser matters, he sent a note. Aulë couldn't remember when Manwë had last visited the Forge in person. A long time, and never late in the evening.

Lord Manwë wore robes in various shades of blue, the outer one heavily embroidered in gold thread. The fabric over his shoulders was dark with moisture. The damp had frizzed his white-blond hair.

"I heard your hammer, so I assumed I'd find you here."

Aulë stepped aside to admit him, paying obeisance with a slight nod.

Eönwë, Manwë's Chief Maia and herald, followed close behind his master. He wore full armor. His helm partially covered his golden hair, and fragments of blue garments showed below his chain mail sleeves. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

For a sickening moment, Aulë thought he was about to be arrested. He sometimes did things in secret after he'd been denied permission. Nothing important, but it added up. Aulë's mouth went dry.

Cirdan the Shipwright brought up the rear. His long hair and beard were snow-white. He wasn't wearing ceremonial attire like the others; he looked like a working sailor. Tar stained his hands, and salt encrusted the plain fabric of his tunic. Cirdan was one of the few who could still make the ocean crossing. He must have brought news from overseas, from Arda.

It was possible this wasn't about himself. Aulë let out his breath.

Once the three of them were inside, Manwë shot the bolt, securing the outer door from within.

"Is there somewhere we could speak in private, without risk of being overheard?" Manwë's face revealed nothing of the subject he wanted to discuss.

Aulë led them across the shop floor, past the hearth where the embers still glowed and his work sat cooling on the side of the hearth, to the windowless interior room known as the Vault which he used for secret work.

Aulë lifted the spell that sealed the door, then stepped aside to let his visitors enter. The room was unchanged since this morning, when he'd allowed the newcomers to glimpse inside.

Aulë tensed as Manwë squeezed around the tongs rack, his embroidered robes almost brushing against the oily tools. The others found places to stand between the hearth, workbench, and the desk.

Aulë still didn't know why they were here. His mind raced with small guilts: Council meetings skipped, corners cut, lies of omission. He could think of a litany of misdemeanors they might or might not know about. He kept his face still and waited for the hammer to fall.

Manwë motioned for Eönwë to bolt the door, and then said, "You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you, not other Valar, not your most trusted servants, not even your wife."

He looked around as if to be sure there was no one else in the small space to overhear them, and then he said,

"The Ring has been found. I want you to unmake it."

Aulë blinked in surprise. It was a moment before he was able to speak. "We already discussed it, and I said 'No'."

"We discussed it over a mug of ale, long before the Ring was found. It's not hypothetical anymore. You're the only one who can do this." Manwë said.

"You're not afraid I'll claim it for myself, or be corrupted by it?" asked Aulë.

"You're one of the Valar, so you're so much more powerful than anything one Maia could have put into the Ring. I doubt it would have an effect on you at all. Nice try, though," said Manwë.

Aulë tried another approach. "I'm not the only one who can unmake it. Curumo has enough skill, and he's made an extensive study of Ringlore."

"I'm reluctant to criticize another one of your servants, but for various reasons, it would be a bad idea to give the Ring to Curumo."

"You could have had one of your eagles carry it to the volcano and drop it in."

"I almost did, until someone pointed out there was a possibility that the power released from the Ring would be restored to its maker, particularly if he was aware of it when it happened," said Manwë.

"Why didn't Cirdan throw it in the sea when he made the crossing?"

"It was feared the nameless creatures that dwell in the uttermost depths might be drawn to it."

"By nameless creatures, I assume you mean Ossë?" Aulë asked, and then felt bad about having said something unkind.

Ossë, Chief Maia to the Lord of the Waters, had always been a delinquent, a bad influence, a trouble-maker. Aulë used him as an example of what not to be. Ossë with the Ring would be interesting, like a tidal wave is interesting, but not in a good way.

Manwë's voice softened. "We don't know what the unmaking would do to your former apprentice. I know he was dear to you.

Aulë leaned back against the edge of the hearth, his arms crossed. This conversation needed to end.

Manwë pressed. "As a responsible and law-abiding leader of our community, you set an example. People look up to you. He was one of your people. You're the one has to deal with him.

"I know I raised a monster. Ever since the trial, I've tried very hard not to think of him at all."

Manwë was quiet for a time. "Have you ever wondered how the Ring was made?"

"I may have, on occasion." It was the most important piece his most gifted student had ever made. Of course Aulë wanted to know how it was made.

Manwë gestured for Cirdan to come over. The famed Elvish navigator produced a small leather pouch, hung from a thong around his neck and hidden under his clothing. He opened it and spilled the contents onto Aulë's workbench. Light from the oil lamps reflected from a small object of gold.

"I'll just leave it here with you so you can have a look." Manwë pushed the door open and left the confined space. Eönwë and Cirdan followed him out onto the shop floor.

"I never agreed to this!" Aulë shouted at Manwë's retreating back, but the Lord of the Valar and his entourage had already found the outside door and disappeared into the mist.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Manwë left with his entourage, and Aulë stood alone in the windowless room. His nails dug into the palms of his hands. The space was quiet except for the popping of embers. He gripped the edges of the workbench, his knuckles white, breathing deep gulps of air through clenched teeth. How could Mairon have done this?

Manwë had played him a rotten trick. But worse, he'd made Aulë think about his lost apprentice, the one he'd disowned after the trial and banished from conscious thought. Or tried to banish from conscious thought. Fragments of memory came unbidden, even after all these years. The incident in the kitchens this morning hadn't helped.

Learning how the Ring was made, and then unmaking it, would take weeks or months of concentrated effort. The whole time, he'd be forced to think about someone he was trying to erase from memory. Aulë had spoken the truth When he told Manwë that he wasn't worried about hurting his former servant. Some part of him wanted his former servant to suffer during the process of being removed from the earth.

Aulë turned his attention to the task before him. The Ring lay on the scarred wooden boards, light from the oil lamp reflecting from its smooth surface. It seemed to breathe like a living thing, its size changing almost imperceptibly. He didn't want to deal with it. He had to deal with it.

"What am I going to do with you?"

Aulë bolted the door of the confined space and returned to his workbench.

He considered how to unmake the Ring. First, he had to figure out how it was made. There wasn't much to go on. Judging from the color, it appeared to be made from something close to pure gold, though he couldn't guess the alloy or if it mattered.

The design was plain, and it had no visible markings. At first glance, it appeared to be more about the enchantments laid on it than its physical or mechanical properties.

Using tongs, he picked up the Ring and dropped it over a mandrel. The Ring slid down to one marking and rested there. He tapped the mandrel to make sure it had slid down as far as it was going to go. He looked away to jot down a note. When he looked back, the Ring had slid further down another to the next lower marking.

The Ring shouldn't need to change size. Mairon had made it for himself, and presumably, always wore it on the same finger. But then, Mairon was a shape-shifter. They all were, but Mairon was better at it than most. The changing size would allow him to wear it when he shifted shape.

Aulë spilled the Ring off the mandrel into the pan of a scale, then added weights until it balanced. A few minutes later, the pan sank unexpectedly. Like any shape-shifter, the Ring changed weight when it changed size.

He picked it up with tongs and returned it to the workbench. A soft, calming voice spoke inside his head.

    Pick me up. I'm smooth, I'm heavy, I would feel warm in your hand.

Aulë leaned closer. He debated for a moment and then tapped it with his finger, but felt nothing. He drew his finger along the smooth band. Still nothing.

    Put me on. You know you want to do it.

Aulë slammed the flat of his hand on the workbench. "Cut the crap!"

The Ring fell silent, apparently frightened into submission.

"Good. Let's be clear about who's in charge." Aulë had had almost the same conversation with its master before.

The hour had grown extremely late. Aulë put the Ring back in the leather pouch Cirdan had left behind. He went out to the shop floor and retrieved the strongbox that held the precious metals used in the Forge, as well as a handful of gemstones. He was the only one who could open it, or even knew where it was kept.

He carried the strongbox into the Vault and opened it. Gold and silver and mithril on their bed of linen gleamed in the lamplight. He dropped the Ring in its leather pouch on top of an open box of emeralds.

Aulë snapped the double locks closed and pushed the strongbox to the small room's furthest corner, behind the brick forge where it couldn't be seen from the door. He felt better about leaving the Ring unwatched once it was locked in the strongbox. He knew it made little sense. The Vault itself was a strongbox, and an extremely good one at that, in that it couldn't be picked up and carried off.

-o-o-o-

Night after night, when the rest of the household was asleep, Aulë returned to the windowless room called the Vault.

He lit the fire in the small hearth and worked the bellows until the flames sprang to life. When the fire was as hot as he could make it, he picked it up with tongs and laid it on the coals. Fiery writing appeared as the Ring heated on the coals. The handwriting was Mairon's, and the words appeared to be those of a Binding spell.

He pulled it out and laid it on the workbench. Initially, he believed the letters were engraved on the gold band. However, after he removed it from the fire and inspected it, he realized they were an inherent part of the metal, a physical manifestation of the Binding spell.

Aulë laid it on the workbench, taking notes as he watched it cool. He wrote down the words but didn't try to capture how the letters were formed. The handwriting didn't matter, the language didn't matter, but the order of the words mattered a great deal.

He put the Ring back in the fire and worked the bellows to bring the fire up as hot as he could make it. The Ring turned orange and then yellow-white. At those temperatures, metal can look almost transparent.

Shadows beneath the surface suggested an inner structure of channels and attachment points in a blurry, uncertain way. He sketched what he thought he saw, though the dimly seen shapes told him little about their function.

After several days of working with it every evening, he could see hints of the writing on the band, even when the Ring was cold. It helped him stay oriented, as it revealed up from down, and showed which quadrant was facing him.

-o-o-o-

The next evening, it occurred to him that the Binding spell was the key. He devised a Binding experiment to observe how the Ring interacted with the other Great Rings. For that, he needed to place a Great Ring close to the One. Cirdan wore one of the Elven rings. Aulë asked around and learned that Cirdan hadn't sailed yet. Aulë summoned him to the Forge.

When Cirdan stood before him, Aulë asked him, "Are you willing to try an experiment?" He explained what he wanted to do.

Cirdan looked doubtful. "My ring is still in Arda. I gave it away."

Aulë dismissed Cirdan and put away the equipment he'd been planning to use. He'd put a lot of effort into this project, but he still didn't know how the Ring had been made. He'd learned as much as could be learned from weighing and measuring and inspecting. He'd taken it as far as he could.

-o-o-o-

The Ring sat on the oiled boards of the workbench. He would learn more if he put it on. Just for a moment, just to learn a little more about how it worked. He stroked its smooth surface, weighing the pros and cons.

    Put me on. You want to do it. It's the only way you'll ever understand me.

He yanked his hand away. That was too close. He shoved the Ring into its leather pouch, taking care not to touch it, and placed it on a high shelf.

It was days before Aulë came back to the secure room. He had an idea. Instead of asking, "How was the Ring made?" he should have asked, "How could it have been made?"

What the Ring was supposed to do. The Ring was made to bind the other Great Rings. How might that be done? The Binding spell was the key. He hadn't been able to experiment with Cirdan's ring, but he could still consider the choice of words in the Binding spell.

Soon after the Ring was forged, Aulë had tried to guess how it had been made. He and Curumo made a game of it, coming up with a few designs that might have worked. Aulë found a few drawings of some of their best ideas among some ancient papers, along with his notes describing the reasoning behind them.

Aulë reviewed their long-ago work, then spread a blank scroll across his desk to map out what he thought might be the inner mechanisms of the Ring. He had to erase and start over several times. What he thought he knew about the Ring was imperfect or contradictory.

He worked on it for days. Notebooks and working sketches covered the top of his desk. Soon, unrolled scrolls, schematic diagrams, and pages of calculations buried every flat surface in the room. The chalkboard filled up with computations and drawings until not a single space remained. He wasn't there yet, but he was sure he was getting close.

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The Mansions of Aulë - During the Creation of the World

After the Ainulindalë, when Aulë first descended into the earth and took physical form, he arrived on a shelf of bare rock enclosed by lifeless seas. The stars were not created yet, and the sun and moon weren't even conceived of.

Those early days involved what seemed like never-ending physical labor. Aulë had been given Maiar, earth spirits similar to himself, but less ancient and powerful.

Together they moved great quantities of dirt and rock. They raised mountain ranges, altered the shape of coastlines, and determined the course of rivers. Sometimes, for recreation, they did small, enjoyable tasks like adding gold to veins of quartz or setting off geysers.

-o-o-o-

Once they had sculpted the earth into something more finished, they set about building a settlement for themselves.

They'd arrived to find a barren wasteland, but by the time they completed their first assigned tasks, the earth was clothed in green. When they looked for a place to settle, they discovered a vale on the edge of a wilderness where no foot had ever trod. They cut a clearing, an inconsequential gap in the trackless forest, and began to build.

The first Forge consisted of an enormous stone fireplace housed in a single-room structure built from logs with the bark still on and chinked with moss. A large rock was placed in the center of the room, and they built benches on which to lay their tools.

They built the walls up only as high as they needed to be, then built the structure to hold the roof. Aulë and Mairon lifted the heavy rafters to the top of the walls and dropped them into the notches cut for them. Curumo would have liked to help, but he wasn't as tall as Mairon, and not nearly as strong.

After they raised the first rafter and seated it near the stone chimney, Mairon found a chisel and carved his initials, MA for Mairon Artano, into the end he had raised.

When it was finished, they declared the shelter a success. It provided a place to store tools out of the weather, which did a great deal to prevent rust. Before long, his Maiar took to sleeping in the Forge, particularly when the weather was bad. In time, the walls were plastered, the floor paved with slates, and eventually, a second room was added.

The Mansions of Aulë - Before the First Age

The end of the days' work approached. Soon it would be time to wash up and go inside for dinner and the evening’s recreation: music and board games and stories.

The Mansions of Aulë had grown into an imposing structure. It was hard to remember the earliest days, when the Forge was a rude log structure in a carved-out pocket of forest.

Since then, they had added upper stories, completed a new addition, and planned to build the Forge its own wing. The house was busy, noisy, and full of life, filled with his Maiar, the visiting Elvish students, and whomever else stopped by.

-o-o-o-

Aulë stood at the anvil, using a chisel on a flat bar of iron. It took three hands to hold the hammer, chisel, and tongs. Mairon acted as his third hand, using the tongs to keep the glowing bar steady.

Aulë struck the chisel. The bar rotated in the jaws of the tongs.

"Mairon, can you keep a better grip on the piece? It's twisting in the jaws."

He had both hands wrapped around the long handles of the tongs. "I'm gripping as hard as I can. The design of the jaws is flawed."

Aulë looked at them. They were like any tongs, with two long handles that pivoted around a pivot joint, but with unusually wide and flat jaws, an adaptation for flat bar and sheet metal.

Aulë saw the problem. While the jaws met flat when empty, as they were supposed to, tipped at an angle when they were apart. Only their inner edges made contact with the piece he was working on. No wonder it wasn't held firmly.

This was a good teaching moment. "How would you fix it?"

"I'd bend the upper jaw to bring it parallel with the lower one when the jaws were open."

Aulë waited to let his apprentice think about how that would work.

"It would work, but only for one specific thickness. And the thickness of a piece changes as it's worked."

Mairon brought paper and a stick of lead to the dinner table, drawing and erasing and starting over again. As he worked, the page filled with parallel jaws and long handles with complicated mechanisms between them.

"I find it interesting that you're so obsessed with a relatively simple problem. I thought you were smarter than that." said Curumo.

Mairon reached for the salt. His elbow hit Curumo's goblet, expertly sending wine in a meandering river straight into Curumo's lap. Curumo jumped up with a shriek, blotting at his clothes. "Look what he did!"

"It was an accident. Let it go," said Aulë.

"Did you see the path of the spill? It was unnatural," said Curumo.

"Then he's highly skilled," said Aulë.

-o-o-o-

Mairon worked for the next eight or ten days, drawing, constructing models, and finally forging his first full-scale example of parallel tongs. It was a complicated mechanism with eight or nine pivot points and a multitude of moving parts.

The jaws remained parallel as they opened and closed.

"Mairon, this is brilliant!" They were heavier than simple tongs, but they worked so well, Aulë preferred them for thin bar work.

On a day when Curumo was Aulë's third hand, Aulë asked him to hold Mairon's parallel jaw tongs.

"They're heavy. The handles are uncomfortable in my hand, and they're clunky-looking."

A day or two later, Curumo presented Aulë with his own design for parallel tongs, a simple mechanism with four pivot joints. It worked well. It weighed much less than Mairon's design. The handles, shaped in graceful curves in his personal style, later echoed in Elvish design, felt comfortable in his hand.

"Curumo, this is amazing! How did you do it?"

"I studied the prototype you've been using and saw that, at its heart, it was a four-joint parallelogram. No other part of the mechanism was important."

Mairon, who was working on the shop floor nearby, glared daggers at Curumo.

Curumo smirked. "You're great at roughing out a prototype, but I'm the one who builds the finished product, the one people will actually use. What can I say? I'm just better than you."

Mairon shoved him. Curumo shoved back. Then Curumo was on the flagstones with Mairon kneeling on top of him, pummeling him. This happened so often, Aulë didn't try to break it up, he just picked up a quench barrel and emptied it over them.

Aulë sighed. Mairon and Curumo were equally skilled, although in different ways. One was a starter, and one was a finisher. If only they'd work together, they'd be unstoppable.

-o-o-o-

A bell rang from inside the Mansions, summoning them to the midday meal. Aulë entered the newly completed wing and breathed in the smell of wood shavings and drying plaster. The new wing featured a dining hall large enough to seat the entire household at a single long table. He was looking forward it.

Lamp light reflected from the bare plaster walls, revealing the marks from plaster knives, recently used on barely dry plaster. The walls are plain now, but someday murals will cover them.

Some of the younger apprentices had made sketches featuring scenes from the Ainulindalë, depicting the creation of the world and the final battle. The House of Aulë prided itself on its artistry and craftsmanship.

Aulë took his place. Yavanna sat at his left hand. The rest of his servants occupied most of the remaining places. A few were still empty because some of his servants were still working in the kitchens.

Mairon and Curumo carried heavy platters in from the kitchen. As the highest-ranking and physically strongest, the task naturally fell to them. They served each Maia, then both of them tried to take the empty place at Aulë's right hand.

By custom, their Chief Maia occupied the place at a Vala's right hand. The place at table held great prestige, as the Chief Maia was a Vala's master's second-in-command, understudy, and confidante. Both Mairon and Curumo were qualified for the role, and both of them wanted it badly.

"Hold on, lads." Aulë gave them a stern look.

The two of them stood there, glaring at each other in a high-stakes game of musical chairs, holding plates on which their dinners were growing cold. Aulë hadn't yet picked his Chief Maia. His jaw tightened. They were forcing him to decide now.

Mairon had a gift for invention. He routinely came up with original designs and mechanisms. He'd do enough to find out if it worked, forcing things together if the pieces didn't fit, and then move on to the next project.

Curumo had a different gift. He could take the work of others and make it easier to construct, lighter, and more beautiful than the originals. His graceful designs influenced the style later seen in Elvish craftsmanship. But as far as Aulë knew, Curumo had never invented anything original.

Mairon and Curumo were equal in skill, intelligence, and seniority. Either would have been a good choice. What tipped the balance was that Aulë liked Mairon better. Aulë raised his hand for silence. "I've made my decision. Mairon will be my Chief Maia. Curumo will be next in rank after him."

Mairon set his plate down at Aulë's right hand as if it were his due. Curumo shot him a look that could maim, then took the empty place at Mairon's right. Aulë let out his breath. At least they hadn't come to blows.

The Maiar at his end of the table fell silent. From the far end of the table where the youngsters sat, Aulë caught a snatch of conversation.

"Ossë told me that the water in the depths is sapphire blue, and sometimes you can hear the songs of whales." Rhosfindel gestured in great excitement.

Aulë sighed. At least someone was unaffected t by the drama.

-o-o-o-

Late one evening, raucous, off-key singing outside shattered the quiet of the household. A door slammed, followed by stage whispers as what sounded like people trying to take off their boots to tiptoe upstairs without waking the household. No such luck. That iron had already cooled.

Something fell and clattered when it hit the tiles, followed by ineffectively suppressed laughter. Aulë wrapped himself in a cloak and stormed downstairs to deal with it.

Rhosfindel was trying to pick up a tall candlestick and replace its pillar candle, without success. Mairon and Curumo were pointing and laughing at him while holding onto each other for balance.

"You're drunk." Aulë glared at them.

"Obviously," Mairon put a hand on the wall for balance.

"Mairon, you're the responsible one. I'd have thought you were the least likely to get into trouble."

"We were out with Ossë. He brought something special for us to try. I don't know what it was."

Rhosfindel rubbed his throat. "It burned something fierce, but it was amazing." This set them all to laughing again.

Aulë tried to look stern. "I don't want you spending any more time with Ossë. He's a bad influence."
"You talk as if he's a delinquent." Mairon enunciated his words with exaggerated care.

"He's past being a delinquent. I saw him talking to Melkor, which makes him half a criminal already. In the future, I want you to stay away from Ossë. He was always wild, but if Melkor started influencing him, he's dangerous as well. I don't want him corrupting you."

Aulë didn't think they were listening. The three of them were laughing and shoving each other.

"We'll talk in the morning."

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The Mansions of Aulë - Early First Age

All afternooon, the sun shone huge and hot.

Aulë played a major role in the sun's creation. He'd led the work on the infrastructure which enabled the sun to move across the sky and return to the east the next day. It was a massive project. To accomplish it, they'd worked in groups. Aulë had to talk to other people for hours at a time, which was hard. He was glad to return to his ordinary work.

-o-o-o-

Melkor left. Mairon watched him go, long after the others had returned to their work. Aulë tensed. His favorite servant, the sensible, responsible one, had just fallen into the grip of an infatuation.

A few days later, Rhosfindel stood beside Aulë's anvil, waiting for Aulë to finish. When Aulë lost the heat and put the iron back in the fire, Rhosfindel spoke. His voice was hesitant and quieter than usual.

"Master Aulë, I came to say goodbye. I'm leaving to join Lord Ulmo's household. I'm grateful for everything you've taught me.

But I want to swim in the warm waters, where rainbow-colored fish swim in gardens of coral and the sunlight filters through green forests of kelp."

Aulë set down his hammer. "Even if you leave here to live in the oceans, you'll still be an earth spirit. You'll be able to manage, but it will never come easily. You'll never quite fit in."

Rhosfindel left that afternoon. That evening, there was an empty place at the table and a lot of questions from the others, including, "Can I have his bed?" But Aulë hoped he would come back and held Rhosfindel's place open, at least for a little while.

-o-o-o-

Aulë was in the middle of casting something in molten silver when excited voices on the shop floor made him look up. In the middle of the shop floor stood Melkor, the Lord of the Valar. He was the most beautiful among them, in a curled-lip, cynical kind of way. Raven hair hung to his waist, and he wore a leather vest with nothing underneath. Three or four of Aulë's people clustered around him, glued to his every word and laughing at his jokes.

Melkor was poaching, recruiting other people's servants into his camp.

"Melkor, get away from my Maiar! You have plenty of your own." Aulë pushed between the Dark Lord and his own Maiar.

Melkor put his hands up. "Peace. We were just talking."

"Talk somewhere else," Aulë pointed at the door.

-o-o-o-

At a meeting of the Council, Lord Manwë announced, "Lord Ulmo's chief Maia, Ossë, left to follow Melkor. He's already left for Melkor's fortress at Utumno."

It was shocking, but it wasn't really a surprise. Ossë was wild and dangerous. Of all the Maiar, he was thought the most likely to join Melkor's camp.

Lord Ulmo joined the meeting just then. Your news is outdated. He's already decided he doesn't want to serve Melkor after all, and come back home."

-o-o-o-

A day or two later, Aulë came back to the Forge in late afternoon after everyone else had gone into the main house to wash up.

Raised voices just out of sight, clearly having some sort of argument.

Mairon's voice, but the words were indistinct.

Aulë rounded a corner into a dark alcove in the back of the shop floor. He looked in just in time to see Mairon with Melkor. Mairon stepped back with a guilty look.

Aulë picked up a hammer and advanced a step. "I told you to stay away from my Maiar. Now get out."

Melkor shrugged and swaggered off. Aulë felt sure that he'd be back.

"What was all that about?" said Aulë.

Mairon looked defiant. "We were just talking. He pays attention to me. He said I'm not like the others, that I'm special."

Aulë tried to be patient. "He's poaching. He's been recruiting Maiar from other households to increase the size of his own. To him, you're just a tally mark on a chalkboard."

Mairon stared back defiantly, but said nothing. Aulë gave up. It was exhausting trying to argue with someone so stubborn.

"Go inside and wash up. We'll talk later."

-o-o-o-

A week went by without incident. Aulë thought the storm had passed.

Aulë was working with a student when he heard a piece of iron hit the paving stones. Mairon cursed and plunged his hand into the quench barrel. The sudden motion drew Aulë's attention.

"What happened?" asked Aulë.

"I touched grey metal. I set something aside to cool and picked it up too soon." Aulë pulled Mairon's hand out of the water and checked the damage. Blisters were forming on his fingertips.

"You've been making mistakes all morning. Come outside with me."

Aulë steered him to a bench against the wall and made him sit, then sat beside him. And waited. Mairon studied his burned hand. The silence was oppressive.

Mairon broke first. "After you told Melkor to leave, I didn't tell you, but he kept coming around to pester me. It was annoying, and I wanted him to stop. But in the last week or so, he hasn't come around. I hear he's trying to recruit Ossë. I'm so confused. I never wanted him pestering me, but now that he's moved on, the jealousy is eating me alive."

Aulë put an arm around his shoulders. "It's for the best, lad. He's trouble. You don't belong with him."

-o-o-o-

Scarcely a month later, the main door opened, and light poured into the Forge. Cries of greeting rang across the shop floor. "Hey, look who's here!" "You came back!" Aulë laid down his hammer and went to look.

A bedraggled-looking Rhosfindel stood in the doorway. His clothes were damp, and so was the bundle he carried. Strands of seaweed tangled in his hair. He looked miserable.

Aulë put on a stern face and crossed his arms. "What happened to your visions of coral gardens and forests of kelp?"

"It was more like sheets of ice in the far North, a horrifying mid-ocean storm, and the bottomless depths where nameless creatures lie. Horrible things like gigantic slugs with spines. I can't tell you whether they're carnivorous. I didn't wait to find out.

"But the worst of it was, everyone there was a water spirit. It was clear early on that I would never be one of them. You said I could always come back if it didn't work out. Did you mean it?"

Aulë clapped an arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the house. "Your bed and your place at the table are still there. Go get settled, then come see me in the Forge. I'm drifting a hole and I need someone to be my third hand."

-o-o-o-

In the days that followed, Mairon seemed unusually cheerful, as if pleased about something known only to himself. Then, late in the afternoon, he approached Aulë, looking apprehensive but determined.

"I came to say goodbye. I've agreed to join Melkor's household."

Aulë turned his back on his favorite servant and resumed his work.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Mairon asked.

"You know what I think. That you're making a mistake. I don't know what he promised you, but he's untrustworthy. And if you think you're going to be as important in his household as you are here, you're wrong. Kosomot will always be his Chief Maia."

"Aren't you going to say goodbye?" The silence stretched on longer than was comfortable. Finally, Mairon turned and walked away.

Aulë called after him, "Wait! If I don't see you again, take care of yourself."

There was an empty place at the table at supper that evening. Aulë was glad he didn't have to explain what it meant. Every one of his people already knew.

Curumo, still standing, hovered between the empty place and his own. "I assume I'm Chief Maia now, so I should sit at your right hand?" He sounded way too eager.

Aulë was too tired to decide. "Just leave it for now. Leave all of his things as they were. I want to hold his place open in case he ever comes back."

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The Circle of Doom - Late Second Age

Aulë stayed away from Council meetings if he could. To him, they meant wearing stiff ceremonial robes and sitting through hours of aimless talk, while his work in the Forge wasn't getting done.

But on this occasion, Lord Manwë decreed that all twelve Council members must attend. The attempt to invade Valinor, followed by the Drowning of Númenor in retaliation, had just happened. The Council of Valar assembled to discuss it.

The Invasion was a terrible thing, but it was more of an insult than an actual threat. They hadn't made it further than the beach. They never got close to Valmar, which was far inland. The Forge was unaffected. Aulë showed up to the Council of Doom with a notebook, prepared to feign taking notes while working on his current project.

Most of the meeting was about the Invasion and the subsequent Sundering of the sea, which made Arda almost inaccessible. Two or three of the Valar spent most of their time in Arda, including Yavanna. This would make it harder for them to cross the ocean.

Then came the bad part. There was substantial evidence that Mairon, whom the Elves called Sauron, had planned the Invasion and had double-dared the Númenorian king to lead it. Not only that, but in the year before the Invasion, he'd committed atrocities: the murder of political opponents, blasphemy, and human sacrifice.

     It couldn't be. It was exaggerated. It must have been someone else.

Aulë had heard enough. He got to his feet, ready to storm out. His notebook slid from his lap and hit the floor.

Lord Manwë's voice was like a thunderclap. "Sit down. He's one of yours. You need to hear this."

Aulë sat. There was more, including torturing his closest friend to death. It was Melkor's fault; it had to be. But Melkor was gone. Mairon had become more dangerous than he'd ever been as Melkor's servant.

Aulë felt like such a fool. He knew there was talk. He also knew he'd made an effort to avoid hearing it, or if he did, to explain it away. All these years of missing Mairon and hoping he'd come home, and in all that time, he never let himself realize how much his servant had changed.

Manwë proposed the Council declare Mairon ineligible for pardon if he ever returned, either on his own or as a prisoner. There was talk of the Pit, but Aulë had stopped listening by then. It was overwhelming.

The Council took a vote. The first round yielded eleven 'Ayes' and one 'Abstain'. Lord Manwë wanted the vote to be unanimous. Yavanna leaned over and whispered, "The sentence is in absentia; it isn't real. Think of it as a strongly worded criticism." On the next round, with great reluctance, Aulë raised his hand, and Manwë got his twelve votes.

Even in the heat of summer, Aulë felt ice cold. He seemed to watch himself from afar, as if the other members were tiny and their speech muffled.

When it was over, Aulë walked home with his wife in silence. Yavanna worried about how she would cross the ocean to tend to her woodlands and meadows, and all the animals, now that Arda and Valinor were sundered.

Aulë, lost in disbelief and anger, barely heard. He interrupted her, "I don't know him anymore."

The Mansions of Aulë - Late Second Age

The Council meeting Aulë thought of as Mairon's Trial had just ended. He and Yavanna were walking home together.

His thoughts were whirling. He felt numb, filled with disbelief. Everything he knew from his own personal experience was a lie. The non-feelings held off a wall of rage so intense it frightened him. It hadn't hit yet, but it would.

He loved Mairon. He invested more time in Mairon than in his other apprentices, and Mairon's departure deeply hurt him. Aulë never guessed his favorite would be a monster.

They reached the Mansions. The sky was turning dark, and the brighter stars had just come out. Yavanna took his arm. "Come inside to dinner. We're late, but I'm sure they've saved something for us."

Aulë wasn't hungry. "Go on ahead. I'll come in when I'm ready."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Yavanna nodded. She went into the house and left him standing in the courtyard.

Aulë entered the Forge. The workday ended, and Aulë found the Forge deserted. Mairon's space on the workbench was as it had been the day he left, pieces of an unfinished project on the wooden surface, a row of hammers in the tool rack behind it, a row of tongs hanging from a bar below.

Aulë swept the pieces onto the floor. The larger ones hit with the paving stones and the edge was dented. Something small and round rolled under the hearth, and it disappeared.

He tore the sketch pinned to the wall showing what the piece would be. The fragile thing was once so precious, so treasured for long years. He crumpled it into a ball and dropped it in the fire, then watched as the flames consumed it.

Aulë found a burlap sack and gathered up all the pieces he could find. He added to it all the specialized tools that looked like Mairon's work - jigs and mandrels and eye punches. Fine sand for welding, beeswax to prevent rust. His maker's mark. His favorite hammer. A specialized pair of tongs he'd made for a onetime project. Anything that looked like Mairon's went into the sack.

He went outside, well into the field where sheep grazed a distance away. He willed it and the ground made a low, deep rumbling which set the dogs to barking. The once-solid ground became uncertain underfoot, like the deck of a ship. A crack opened in the earth with no visible bottom.

He held the sack over the crevasse and emptied the contents into it. Metallic pieces struck rocks and outcroppings on their way down. The pieces banged against each other as they fell, and then went quiet when they had fallen as far as they were going to.

Aulë stepped back and laid the enchantment to close the split ground. The pieces would surely be crushed and flattened. If unearthed, there would be nothing to recover but twisted scrap metal.

His people were running out of the dining hall. "Master Aulë, the chandeliers are swinging on their chains so hard, some of the flames went out. And the pots in the kitchen are dancing on their hooks."

The tremors died down to an occasional vibration, more sensed than felt. Fine, abrasive dust hung over the place where the crack had been, stinging his eyes. He ran the back of his hand over his eyes before turning to face them.

"Go back inside. You earth spirits should know that the Earth is a living thing. A little tremor shouldn't surprise you."

He found a quiet place outdoors to sit in the gathering twilight, watching the first stars appear. He felt numb. He could normally put things right, but this was beyond fixing.

He came to bed late. Yavanna stirred beside him, but didn't wake. He was glad. She would ask him what was wrong, and he didn't want to talk about it.

Amid restless dreams in the small hours of morning, Aulë remembered a small trinket Mairon had made when he was just beginning to learn the craft.

It was a tendril of iron, a stem with a leaf. It looked like the work of a child. The stem was too thick or too thin, and the veins on the leaf aspired to be symmetrical, but failed. It was the first thing Mairon had ever made. He was proud of it and had saved it as a souvenir. For as long as Aulë could remember, the gawky leaf had a place somewhere on his workbench.

In the fury of disillusionment, Aulë had been determined to destroy every reminder of his now-disowned servant. But now that he'd calmed down, it seemed terribly important to save that one thing, a memento from before it all went bad.

When it was just getting light, Aulë went to the Forge and stood before the now-stripped workspace. There was a wooden surface with nothing on it, empty tool racks, a slate for chalk drawings, wiped clean, above an empty shelf. Nothing remained.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë built up the fire and brought the Ring up to white-heat.

After bringing it to white-hot many times, he'd memorized the major structures and the bands of connection between them, the sinews and ligaments, he still didn't know how they worked.

He reached for it with the tongs but lost his grip, and it disappeared among the coals. Both it and the fire were yellow-white, so it took some digging to find it again.

He finally found it among the coals and pulled it out. He was accustomed to holding it right-side up with the first phrase of the Binding spell showing. Now it hung out of the jaws of the tongs at an awkward angle, flipped upside down with the first phrase covered and the second and third phrases showing. Looking at it from an odd angle, he saw a structure so small and insignificant, he hadn't noticed it before.

It was an invisibility spell. Invisibility was one of the first spells taught to beginners. There was no need to give the Ring an Invisibility spell. Its master could have made himself invisible just by willing it. They all could.

There was something wrapped around the tiny an Invisibility spell, something larger and more complicated. It was common practice to create an advanced spell by taking a simple spell and building on it. Concealment spells, which were difficult to cast, used Invisibility spells as a base.

The Concealment spell explained something Aulë had wondered about. They knew Mairon was wearing the Ring when captured by the Númenorians. They could have taken it from him at any time, but they hadn't. Why not? Because they didn't know he had it. They didn't know it existed at all.

By this time, Aulë knew what to look for, he could spot it easily. The Concealment spell was part of another structure, which then linked to another. The little slip of Invisibility spell was the thread that, when pulled, unraveled the rest of the mystery.

One thing that surprised him was how much of his own soul Mairon had put into the Ring. It was a brilliant, daring, and utterly foolish decision on Mairon's part. He and it were entwined. There was no way it could be destroyed or unmade without unimaginable harm to his former apprentice.

Aulë could look at the Ring in its white-hot state and view the whole design. Certain functions could have been streamlined or combined to be more efficient, but that was normal for a first attempt.

Aulë re-drew a couple of features on his drawings of the Ring's design. He wanted to capture the most recent things he'd learned while they were still fresh in his mind.

This piece that Mairon made, even with its rough edges and pieces jammed in where they didn't fit, was a highly skilled piece of work. No, it was a masterpiece. It was a shame to destroy such a masterfully wrought piece of work, but that was the task set before him.

While he was working, Aulë had been focused on the mechanism of the design. He hadn't considered how destroying it would affect its maker. Mairon would lose much of his power, certainly. Enough to prevent him from taking physical form again. He'd hate that.

His former servant had committed terrible crimes. Aulë ground his teeth. His former favorite was getting off lightly. He hadn't stood trial, he hadn't gone to prison. After the Invasion, he'd been stripped of the ability to take on a fair form. Now he was about to lose the ability to take a physical form at all.

His former servant had free will and he'd made poor choices. These were the consequences. Aulë had no qualms about proceeding with the Unmaking.

There had been something like a trial following the Invasion, where Aulë learned that Mairon had been behind most of it.

Aulë had taken it hard. He tried not to think about what he'd done afterwards, but the memory kept slamming at him.

-o-o-o-

Some time later, Aulë stepped into the Vault and sealed the door behind him. The space smelled of chalk dust and cold ashes.

His workspace looked like it always looked when he was in the throes of an intense project. Piles of papers covered every flat surface. His desk had almost disappeared under open notebooks, lists, and sketches. The chalkboard had been filled, erased, and filled again.

After much effort, alone and in secret, he finally understood how his former student had made the Ring. He was more than a little impressed. The design was brilliant, original, daring, and intensely risky. He'd put himself in great danger to make it.

Once he understood how the Ring was made, he wrote a note informing Lord Manwë of his progress. However, he hadn't learned how to unmake it yet, so the note went unsent.

Aulë fashioned a crude model of the Ring's inner workings from wire and twine. He turned the model in his hands. The Ring would not come apart easily. There were ways to do it, but not ways to do it safely. After some time went by with no progress, he began to favor the volcano approach. But he kept at it, and when he had a sequence he liked, he wrote a short list of the steps he needed to take and pinned it to the wall.

Unmaking it would be mostly a matter of opening up the Ring and severing a critical ligature that connected two major components. The ligature should have been easy to reach, but unfortunately, connections stretched over unrelated components, and random bits were wedged in where they didn't quite fit.

Some time later, Aulë stepped into the Vault and sealed the door behind him. The space smelled of chalk dust and cold ashes.

His workspace looked like it always looked when he was in the throes of an intense project. Piles of papers covered every flat surface. His desk had almost disappeared under open notebooks, lists, and sketches. The chalkboard had been filled, erased, and filled again.

After much effort, alone and in secret, he finally understood how his former student had made the Ring. He was more than a little impressed. The design was brilliant, original, daring, and intensely risky. He’d put himself in great danger to make it.

Once he understood how the Ring was made, he wrote a note informing Lord Manwë of his progress. However, he hadn’t learned how to unmake it yet, so the note went unsent.

Aulë fashioned a crude model of the Ring’s inner workings from wire and twine. He turned the model in his hands. The Ring would not come apart easily. There were ways to do it, but not ways to do it safely. After some time went by with no progress, he began to favor the volcano approach. But he kept at it, and when he had a sequence he liked, he wrote a short list of the steps he needed to take and pinned it to the wall.

Unmaking it would be mostly a matter of opening up the Ring and severing a critical ligature that connected two major components. The ligature should have been easy to reach, but unfortunately, connections stretched over unrelated components, and random bits were wedged in where they didn’t quite fit.

-o-o-o-

Aulë had discovered the Ring's design, figured out how to unmake it, and forged the specialized tools needed for the Unmaking. He could proceed with the Unmaking at any time. There was no excuse not to update Lord Manwë on his progress.

He found a sheet of scrap paper, then chose his words carefully with respect for the great secrecy of the project.

     To Lord Manwë, Aulë the Smith sends greetings and hopes this finds you well. I wish to convey news of my success in the endeavor we discussed, and am proceeding to the next step as planned.

He read it over, satisfied it conveyed the message while still being discrete. He found a good sheet of parchment and wrote out a fair copy. As he waited for the ink to dry, he dug through a drawer to find his personal seal, a heraldic device of an anvil and hammer. He dripped red wax on the flap and stamped it. There. Signed and sealed, just one step shy of signed, sealed, and delivered.

The hour was late. That was enough for one night. He put the wax and seal back in the drawer, along with the letter.

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Town of Valmar - Present Day (TA 3018)

It was a beautiful spring day. It was also the anniversary of Valinor's victory in the War of Wrath. They marked the occasion with a festival in Valmar, an easy walk of a mile or two away in pleasant weather.

The younger apprentices were too young to remember the War: the strength of the Enemy, the very real possibility they could be defeated and overrun, and the terrible cost they paid to prevail. For the younger apprentices, the Festival meant nothing more than sweets, theatrical performances, and prizes. As the date grew closer, they grew increasingly excited about going.

On the morning of the Festival, Aulë declared a day of no work so his people could go. He knew from previous festivals they'd go anyway, pleading some non-specific illness, then re-appearing at their anvils the next day with a bad sunburn. Aulë knew not to ask.

Aulë felt good about the progress he'd made on the project. He decided he'd go to the Festival with everyone else. It would be the first day he'd taken off since Manwë brought him the Ring. It would do him good to be away from the task for a day. When he came back, he would see the project with fresh eyes.

Music from the Festival reached him before he arrived at the Festival, held in the center of Valmar. Stages for music and theatric performances had been built on the town green, and the aroma of roasting meat suggested the food stalls were already open.

Aulë made a point of visiting the row of booths built by the Maiar of each Vala's household. By tradition, the booths housed some sort of game and gave out small prizes. Ulmo's people gave out seashells, Oromë's had clay figures of horses, and Yavanna's offered paper flowers. The booth made by his own people depicted the insides of a mine streaked with a mithril vein hidden in plain sight. Celebtan explained the game, and Bronze gave him a pewter charm of an anvil. Aulë thanked him gravely. They had spent days making those charms for the booth.

Drums and trumpets announced the entrance of Lord Manwë to the Festival. Eönwë, his herald, led the procession. He carried Lord Manwë's standard, impossibly tall, the pale blue and white silk floating in the breeze. Armed soldiers followed in close ranks, the sun blinding from their polished armor. Lord Manwë himself came behind them, resplendent in blue and silver. An eagle perched on his wrist, and an unseen wind stirred his pale hair. The crowd murmured as all eyes turned to him.

The afternoon progressed. Aulë was content to listen to the musical performances and watch people walk by, singly and in groups, dressed in their most festive clothing. Darkness fell. The torches and braziers were lit. Ale and cider flowed. Flutes and strings accompanied the singing, and people got up to dance. The festival took on an exuberant tone.

Eönwë sat alone at a small table in a far corner of the tavern's patio, his shoulders slumped. He looked tired. Aulë crossed the courtyard to join him. Eönwë wore blue and silver, the livery of his master. He wore a hand-and-a-half broadsword at his belt, and an inch of chainmail showed below his sleeve.

"I have a letter for your master." Aulë reached into his pouch. His fingers closed on a seashell and a clay horse. He'd put the letter to Manwë in the drawer of his desk. It was still there. "Never mind, I'll send it later."

There were people nearby, absorbed in their own conversations. Eönwë's table, tucked in a corner, was relatively private. The barmaid came by with a pitcher. Eönwë held up his hand to wave her over. He didn't need more; he was already slurring his words.

"Something bothering you, lad?" Aulë sat down on the bench beside him.

Eönwë stared into his tankard. "The War of Wrath Festival forces me to think about the War. I'd rather not."

"Why not? You led our forces to victory. You should be celebrating. Enjoying the attention, not hiding away in a corner drinking yourself blind."

Eönwë spoke quietly, as if to himself. "He was my friend. I hate what's going to happen to him." Eönwë and Mairon had been inseparable when they were young. Whenever you saw one, the other wasn't far away. "The Festival has always been hard for me. The War, it's a wound that never heals." Aulë hadn't fought in the War himself. He stayed in the Forge, making weapons and equipment.

Aulë and Manwë were close, but it was rude to speak to one of Manwë's servants without asking. But there was something he'd wanted to know for a very long time. "You were the last to see Mairon. What happened?" That was a polite way of saying it. Aulë thought what they all thought. That Eönwë had captured the Enemy's second-in-command and, for no apparent reason, had let him go. That Eönwë was an idiot.

Eönwë wouldn't look at him. "He didn't come back. I blame myself."

Not a surprise. We all blame you.

A barmaid came by with a pitcher. Aulë raised his hand for another round, even though Eönwë had clearly had enough at that point. Aulë felt guilty about plying the lad with drink, but not guilty enough to stop doing it. As far as he knew, Eönwë never opened up about that day, and he appeared about to do so now.

Aulë pressed him. "You were the last of us to see him. How did he look? What did he say to you? What was his mood?"

"Why don't I start at the beginning. But you know how it ends. I could have saved him, and I failed."

Arda - End of the First Age (Eönwë 's story)

Eönwë stared into his tankard. "When the Council decided to do something about Melkor, I was charged with leading the Forces of Valinor against his stronghold, so I saw a lot of things up close. I've been asked whether I was the one who cut Melkor to pieces, or if I was just a witness. Don't ask. I don't want to talk about it."

Aulë waved to the barmaid to top him off again, which leaving his own mug untouched. He sat in silence, waiting for Eönwë to go on.

"After Melkor fell, his armies collapsed. Orcs, dragons, trolls, everything. Those of the survivors who fled were hunted down and killed.

"Mairon had been one of Melkor's captains. Had he tried to escape, whatever happened to him at our hands would have been very unpleasant. For him. But he did something smart. Instead of fleeing or waiting to be captured, he walked into our camp, unarmed, and knelt at my feet.

"When I saw him, he'd just learned that Melkor was gone. He'd fallen into a stunned, disbelieving state of grief. His eyes were focused on nothing, and his hands were as cold as ice.

"He said he regretted the harm he'd done, and that he wished to return home and resume to his old life. I knew him well enough to tell truth from lie, and could tell his repentance was real.

"If it were anyone else, I'd have had him arrested and placed under heavy guard. But because he sincerely repented, I told him to find his own way to Valinor to appear for trial. I thought, if he made the long trip, alone and unaccompanied, it would show the Valar that his repentance was real.

"Unfortunately, there was so much going on at once, I couldn't spend as much time with him as I would have liked. Armed men had broken into my tent, killing the guards and escaping with the Silmarils. The thieves had just been captured, and I was called away to decide their fate. When it was settled, I went looking for him, but he was gone. I never saw him again."

The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë came to bed late, as he had every night since he took on this project. Most nights, he could hardly stay awake long enough to wash off the soot.

Tonight, he lay awake. His head whirled with what he'd learned from his preliminary calculations. It couldn't be that bad, he told himself, but it was.

Outside, the night was alive with the songs of crickets and frogs. He couldn't believe how loud they were. An hour passed.

"Vanna, are you awake?"

"I am now." Yavanna sounded less than pleased with him.

"Why do you think Mairon didn't come back? Eönwë said he wanted to."

"I expect it was the near-certainty of standing trial and being sent to prison."

"When Mairon left here, I watched until he vanished from sight. He didn't look back, not once. Since then, never once tried to contact me. Not once, not even after a disaster, to let me know he was still alive." Aulë fell silent for a while. "I'll never see him again, will I?"

"I don't see how he could get a note to you, even if he'd wanted to. It's not like he had a way to send a letter or pass on a message through a mutual acquaintance."

Aulë said, "For the longest time, I wanted him to come home. Now I just want him to be safe."

After a bid, he asked, mostly to himself, "Do you think I ever mattered to him?"

Yavanna propped herself up on one elbow. "I didn't tell you this story when it happened. You were still so upset about the Trial and didn't allow his name to be spoken, but I think you need to hear it."

Dol Guldur - Middle of the Third Age (Yavanna's story)

"This happened not long ago, in the middle of the Third age. We still didn't know who the Necromancer was. I sent one of my Maiar to get close to Dol Guldur to see what she could learn. She took on the shape of a she-Orc and set up an alehouse in the little village at the foot of Dol Guldur.

"When the Plague came through, Dol Guldur was hit hard. The Plague appeared to shut down Dol Guldur for more than a month.

"When things went back to normal, an elderly Orc who looked important came to the alehouse. He was a specialist in herbs, and he'd been working 20-hour days for weeks while the Plague swept through the fortress.

"He said that when things eased up a bit, he went to the kitchens for something to eat. He found them operating on a skeleton crew, serving only dried meat and waybread, so he took the five-minute hike down to the village in search of a meat pie and a proper mug of beer.

"He didn't notice that the beer she served him was stronger than the norm. Or that a pretty girl, by Orc standards, was hanging onto his every word. Either way, it served to loosen the tongue of an exhausted old man.

"The old healer confided to my Maia, the barmaid, that he'd treated someone of high rank who was out of his head with fever and calling for someone called Owlie. No one in Dol Guldur knew of anyone named after an owl."

"Of course, my Maia noticed that Owlie sounded almost like Aulë, but she didn't attach any importance to it. We all thought the Necromancer was a human sorcerer, possibly one of the Nazgûl. We didn't seriously think it might be Mairon.

Aulë was deeply touched. In the throes of delirium, Mairon hadn't called for Melkor; he'd called for himself.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Light from the oil lamps fell on the murals in the dining room, making them shimmer and almost bringing the figures to life. The evening meal had been cleared away, and the new arrivals were in the kitchens, learning how to do the washing up. For the first time since Manwë brought him the Ring to destroy, Aulë was enjoying a quiet evening at the long table, playing cards or board games with his people. This was where he spent time with his Maiar outside of work or classes, and heard their dreams and concerns.

He spilled the four dice out of the dice cup onto the dining room table. Three landed in the center of the table, with a high number of pips showing. The fourth die bounced over the far edge of the table and hit the floor. One of the young people crawled under the table to find it. "It's a one, Master Aulë. Mahtan still has the lead."

One of Aulë's junior apprentices appeared in the doorway from the front hall. "Master Aulë? I hate to interrupt your game, but Lord Manwë requests your attendance in the courtyard as soon as you can."

Lord Manwë stood outside in the deepening twilight. "We need to talk."

Aulë's mouth went dry. He'd gotten Manwë's servant drunk at the Festival and pumped him for information. Although it was unlikely, Eönwë remembered much of their conversation.

"We'll talk inside the Vault." Manwë strode across the courtyard. Whatever this was about, it wasn't about Eönwë.

"I looked for you in the Forge before I tried the house. I was surprised you weren't working this evening." Lord Manwë's tone was mild, matter-of-fact. Aulë hadn't been working on the day of the Festival either. Manwë surely knew that, as they'd both been there.

Aulë's mind raced. He knew. He must know. Aulë had quit the project.

Aulë cringed. Until recently, he'd taken pride in being truthful and following the rules, unless you counted that incident with the Dwarves. Sometimes a white lie and good intentions can spiral out of control.

They entered the darkened Forge, still smelling of wood smoke from the day's classes. Lord Manwë crossed the shop floor to the Vault, then stepped aside to let Aulë open it. Aulë struggled to find the door behind the concealment spell, finally locating the door jamb by touch. He hadn't opened the Vault since before the Festival and had forgotten what he'd done to seal it. It took four or five tries to break the enchantment.

The door finally swung open. Manwë went in first. Once they were both inside, he sat on the edge of Aulë's desk as if he owned it, and said, "Bolt the door."

Aulë saw him looking around the room. He must have noticed the swept-out hearth, the tools put away, the chalkboard wiped clean. If Aulë had been working in here, there would have been tongs on the hearth, jigs and metal plates on the workbench, and drawings spread out on every flat surface.

Manwë said, "May I see the Ring?"

Aulë retrieved the leather bag from a shelf and spilled it onto the workbench. It sat there, changing in size almost imperceptibly, as if it were breathing.

"It looks alive," said Manwë.

"In some ways, it is."

"Does it understand what we're saying? Should we be talking in front of it about what will happen to it?" Manwë peered at it.

"I don't think it understands words, but it seems to pick up on tone."

Aulë felt like the Ring was focused on him, as still and watchful as a predator. He wondered how much it knew. It seemed to be frightened, but like its master, it was no coward.

Manwë said, "I came here tonight because…"

"Stop that!" Aulë jumped up and smacked the surface of the workbench, hard.

"What?" Manwë's eyes were round, and his hand flew to the hilt of an imaginary sword.

"Not you. The Ring was acting out again." Aulë put it back in its pouch and returned it to the high shelf.

Manwë returned to his perch on the desk. "Right. I'm here because I just learned your former servant is about to invade Gondor. Unless he's stopped, countless people will die. We need to act right away. How close are you to finished?"

"It was more complicated than expected. I haven't unraveled all of it, so it's taking longer than…" Aulë realized he was babbling.

"Then I assume you're run into a snag that's halted the work, and you're embarrassed to say so?"

I have to develop some safety procedures. The Unmaking will be dangerous. It might release a great deal of power all at once…"

"You've worked on dangerous projects before. Aulë. Look at me. As of right now, do you know enough to unmake the Ring?"

Aulë's face burned. He hated to be caught in a lie, even a lie of omission. "I finished last week. I could unmake it at any time. I just need to write the procedure and gather the tools."

Manwë looked stunned. "You could do it now? That's the best possible news! Why didn't you tell me as soon as you were done?"

Aulë got up and found the note in his desk drawer. "I meant to give this to you, but I forgot to bring it to the Festival."

"Tell me what's going on." Manwë spoke gently.

Aulë got up abruptly and paced in the small room. "I'm not happy about doing it. I don't want to hurt Mairon. If I unmake his Ring, he'll lose his physical form forever. He'll be crippled it a way that can't be healed."

"Is that so terrible? Your servant Mairon, more recently known as Sauron Gorthaur, was tried in absentia and sentenced to be sealed in a prison cell forever, or worse, cast into the Pit. This way, he's still free but not able to do anything harmful. I know it's hard. Sometimes we have to do things that are hard."

Manwë looked off in the distance. "I gave the order to send Melkor, my own brother, to the Pit. I hated having to do it, but he was too dangerous to leave alive. I deeply regret that I didn't act sooner. I should never have let it go so long."

"Maybe there's another way. What if I claim it for myself and use it to enslave him? Or held the threat of Unmaking over his head to gain his good behavior?" Aulë knew he was grasping at straws.

Manwë looked tired. "How would you get a message to him? Even the Valar couldn't breach the walls of his fortress. I'm sorry, but he's one of your people, and yours to deal with. I know you want to save him, but he's too far gone for that."

Manwë changed tacks. "Speaking hypothetically, what safety precautions would you take for the Unmaking?"

"I'd clear the premises before I began, probably first thing in the morning. I'd send everyone to Valmar for the day."

Manwë looked thoughtful. "Tomorrow is market day. They'd thank you for the day off. What if someone came back, say, because they forgot something?"

"I'd post guards on the road between the Mansions and Valmar. Rhosfindel and Celebtan, they're the most senior of my Maia. I'd post them where the road enters the woods. It's sufficiently far from the Mansions."

"Would you set up in this space, or outside?"

"Outside at the demo forges would be safer. If a blast wave collapsed the buildings, I'd prefer to be outside."

Manwë prompted him to describe how he'd gather and arrange the tools, lay out the instructions, light the fires, and go through the entire process. When he was done, Aulë could envision every step of the Unmaking as clearly as if he'd already done it.

Without ever knowing quite how it happened, Aulë realized he'd agreed to d0 the Unmaking the following day.

he'd committed to do the Unmaking the following morning.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

At breakfast the next day, Aulë announced that everyone in the Mansions, his Maiar and Aulëndil, as well as the small number of Yavanna's people in residence, would have to clear out of the Mansions from early afternoon until well after dark. He'd worked alone on secret or dangerous projects before, so what he was asking of them wasn't unusual. He suggested they spend their day off at Market Day in Valmar and gave each of them a few coins to spend at the market.

All morning, he had his Maiar bring wood by the armload and baskets of charcoal to the courtyard, and pile it by the largest of the demo forges. They carried water to top off the largest of the quench barrels and filled a smaller one with oil. He had them bring all the tongs he thought he'd need: wolf jaw, bolt, offset, and pickup tongs, as well as several hammers, including a short-handled sledge. He arranged them on the tool bench in the order he'd use them, and laid his favorite hammer on the anvil.

The noon hour arrived. It was the worst time for forging, the time of day when it was impossible to tell the color, and hence the temperature, of hot metal in direct sunlight.

Aulë released his servants from all work for the rest of the day and posted Rhosfindel and Celebtan, the highest-ranking of his Maiar, to stand watch on the road to keep anyone from returning early. From their long faces, he guessed they weren't happy about having to stand guard duty while everyone else got to go to the Market, but they got up and trudged down the road to take up their positions without complaint.

Once everyone had left, Aulë walked through the buildings to be sure they were really empty. Once he was sure he was alone, he unsealed the Vault and brought out the specialized tools he'd made for this task: clamps, needle-nosed tongs, and a tiny chisel with a super-hardened tip, tools specially made for the project that he preferred to keep out of sight. The anvil had a hole in the back for holding tools. Into it, he fixed the jig he'd made to hold the Ring while he worked.

After all the tools were out, he retrieved the schematic showing the Ring's inner workings and pinned it to the easel they used during demos. The list of steps needed to do the Unmaking, simplified and numbered for clarity, went on the tool bench, weighted down by a pair of tongs. He spread out his notes on the edge of the hearth and skimmed them, jotting down a few reminders to himself. Setup was complete.

He moved slowly, taking longer than necessary to arrange his tools, making extra trips for things he probably wouldn't need. He didn't want to do this, but he was a high-ranking Vala whose duty it was to enforce the law. The law came before his personal feelings. He didn't have a choice about doing this. Unfortunately, the only way through it was through it, and putting it off didn't make it any better.

The afternoon progressed. The shadow of the Mansions moved across the flagstones until the anvil, the edge of the hearth, and finally the tool bench. The light was perfect for forging. This was it.

He made one more trip to the Vault to retrieve the small leather pouch that held the Ring. His mouth was dry, and it had nothing to do with thirst.

With everything he needed laid out within easy reach, Aulë donned his well-worn leather apron, but also leather gloves, sleeves, and something like a helmet with a mesh of tiny holes over the eyes. Over the physical gear, he added a few shielding enchantments. He practiced going through each of the steps, both to memorize the list of instructions and to get used to the weight and clumsiness of the heavy protective gear.

At the anvil, he opened the pouch and shook the Ring into the jig he'd made to hold it during the Unmaking. It looked like smooth yellow gold, with no writing on it. As he adjusted the fit, his hand brushed against it accidentally. It was filled with a sense of resignation, like a man being led to the scaffold. Aulë regretted that. He didn't like to cause suffering, not even to an inanimate object.

He built up the fire, using an enchantment to make it burn hotter than usual. He worked the bellows until jets of flame shot out of the mounded fuel. Using tongs, he put the Ring in the fire, some parts artificially cooled and shielded from the heat with clay. He followed the list, taking care not to forget a step or do anything out of order. He focused on the procedure and the mechanics of how the parts fit together, not on what it would cost. Finally he lifted the Ring, white-hot, glowing too brightly to show the writing. He fixed it in the jig made to grip it for this last, fatal colored glass beads.

-o-o-o-

The last step. He took it from the fire and dropped it on the jig, placed a chisel over a spot he knew how to find based on the fiery writing, and raised the sledge.

It was like the Dwarves, all over again. Only this time it was the first apprentice he'd ever trained, the one most like himself, his favorite.

Do it in one strike, make it quick. It was more merciful that way. The Ring cooled until the inscription was visible again. At this temperature, the blow he was about to strike would do nothing. The moment passed. The hammer slipped from his fingers and struck a paving stone.

"I can't do it." He lowered his arm.

Aulë stared into the fire. He didn't tend the fire; he didn't work the bellows. The flames burned down, the embers glowed deep orange and red, and the Ring continued to cool. The inscription faded until it was almost unreadable.

He stripped off his protective gear, then slumped onto a bench with his face in his hands. He felt disgusted with himself, not for failing at the task, but for having agreed to do it in the first place.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

Aulë secured his notes in the Vault, then gathered tools by the armload and dumped them on the hearth, leaving the tongs tangled together, uncleaned and unsorted. He returned the Ring to its pouch and left it on the desk.

     There must be another way.

Yesterday evening, when he was pleading for Mairon's life, he'd said, "What if I held the threat of Unmaking over his head to guarantee his good behavior?" It was worth a try. It might even work if he could figure out how to pull it off. Lord Manwë wasn't here to tell him no.

After full darkness, his people returned from Market Day, well-fed and laden with their purchases. Several of them voiced the opinion that Lord Aulë should work on secret projects more often. That was hours ago. Most of them were asleep now.

Aulë sat at the long dining table, the nib of his pen hovering over a scrap of paper. He didn't know what to say. This was his first attempt to contact Mairon since his apprentice had left to follow Melkor. He knew he was was taking a risk. He hadn't been specifically forbidden to enter into secret communications with the defeated Enemy's second-in-command, but he knew it would look bad it he were caught.

He wanted to tell Mairon,

     Stay quiet, and I'll cover for you as long as I can,

He might include a schematic drawing to show that he understood the design, although even without it, Mairon would assume as much.

Unfortunately, he couldn't speak plainly. If the letter were intercepted, people would assume Aulë was tipping off a convicted felon to help him escape justice. Which was exactly what Aulë was trying to do. If he were caught, he knew he could be charged with helping a condemned criminal escape justice.

Suppose he phrased it as a threat, the tone cruel and gloating.

     I have the Ring. It was brought to me to unmake. 
     The next time you put so much as a toe over the line, I'll melt it down for scrap gold."

Not good enough. Gloating tone or not, it was still obvious he was tipping off a convicted felon. The message had to contain instructions for Mairon to save himself, but phrased in a way that wasn't obvious on first reading.

Aulë filled the scrap of paper with crossed-out sentences and word substitutions until no white space remained, then turned it over and filled up the back.

He wasn't completely satisfied with any of his attempts, but he picked one that worked reasonably well. At first glance, it read like a threat, boastful and gloating. That was intentional. If he were caught, he wouldn't seem to be helping the enemy. He worried that the hidden message was so subtle it would go unnoticed. But Mairon was smart; he would figure it out.

Aulë found a sheet of good parchment and wrote a fair copy from the draft. After the ink dried, he folded the sheet into thirds in one direction and then the other, forming a tight square bundle. He held the stamp over the cooling wax for a time, but then set it aside.

He hadn't signed the letter, so he wouldn't seal it. The wax hardened. He turned the letter over and printed Mairon in careful block letters on the back of the parchment bundle.

Manwë had said it was impossible to get a message into Barad-dûr, but he hadn't considered other ways it might be done. There was a small hilltop fortress, Dol Guldur, in the forests of Mirkwood. It belonged to the Ring's master, and it was much more accessible than his main fortress. Surely he had servants there who could forward a message.

Yavanna came in just as he was burning the rough drafts in the fireplace. Her green dress bloused over a silver belt, and the embroidered hem swept the tops of her bare feet.

She raised an eyebrow. "You're burning the drafts? Is it a secret correspondence?"

He put a finger to his lips and motioned her to close the door.

"Yes, very."

When he showed her who the letter was for, she clapped a hand over her mouth and her eyes went wide. "Why on earth do you need to write to him all of a sudden?" she asked.

"It doesn't matter. When next you cross the sea to tend to your forests and meadows, can you go to Mirkwood first, to Dol Guldur, and give this letter to someone there? They'll know how to get it to Mairon. Tell them it's urgent."

"I was planning to go in a few days. Will that be soon enough?"

"Can you leave tonight? I need Mairon to see this right away."

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Dol Guldur - Present Day (TA 2018)

Mordor was on the eve of war. His master was planning a number of invasions, all to launch at the same moment. Khamûl was in a high state of readiness as he waited for the order to strike.

To calm his nerves, he rode patrol around the base of the fortress, his usual circuit, just inside the boundary where bare rock projected above the forest. Khamûl's mount picked its way over the rocky slope with caution. At the edge of his vision, he saw a lady in green among the old-growth trees. Dark hair hung to her waist, and the emerald hem skimmed the tops of her bare feet. He'd seen her before, more than once, but only from the corner of his eye. When he turned to look, he saw only trees and vines.

It happened often enough that he mentioned it in his report to Barad Dur. His Master wrote back immediately. "What did she look like? What was she wearing? Did she speak to you?" In his reply, Khamûl described the long black hair, the dark green dress cinched with a long-tailed belt, the silver circlet. But he'd only seen her from the corner of his eye. He had a hard time separating what he'd seen from what he'd imagined.

This time, when he turned to look, she was still there. Her feet were bare, and her dress floated around her, moving in a breeze that didn't stir the leaves of the trees around her. Khamûl tried to breathe, but couldn't use the air he took in. His vision narrowed to a tunnel. His head whirled, and he tried to grip the saddle horn for balance.

When he opened his eyes, the side of his face was pressed against the litter of the forest floor, cold and damp. Dampness from the earth had soaked his clothes from chest to knees. His mouth tasted of dirt. The lady in green spoke inside his head, which took the form of music and images. I need you to carry a message to your Master. Deliver it into his hand. Leave tonight. It's urgent.

His fingers closed around something stiff with sharp corners, a small bundle of parchment held closed with red wax.

He turned it over. A single word on the back, Mairon. Sauron had used that name when he first introduced himself to Khamûl, but that was a long time ago. Khamûl was surprised that someone who wasn't a Nazgûl would refer to him by that name.

Barad-dûr - Present Day (TA 3018)

Khamûl rode for five days, changing horses at all the regular stations. Finally, he passed through the last gate defending Barad-dûr, admitted without having to identify himself or his purpose. Foam dripped from the horse's mouth, and his sweat soaked through Khamûl's lower clothing.

It was almost impossible to grasp the size of the Tower. He was near a high wall, built directly on the foundations. There was another wall above that, and another above that. Any of the towers at the corners, which looked like ornaments on the walls of Barad-dûr, could have been a freestanding fortification by itself.

In an inner courtyard, Khamûl dropped to the cobblestones on shaky legs and headed for a stairway, the shortest route to the main level. An Orc guard jumped out of his way.

He reached the main level and grabbed the collar of the first person he saw, a plain-robed official, "Where is Sau…our Master?" Sauron forbade his name to be spoken, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

"His nibs? He's in the War Room. All the higher-ups are with him. They've been in there for days."

Khamûl released the man's collar and sprinted several flights up the main staircase, then along a main hallway, then down a side hall. His legs burned from the long ride, and he hadn't spent the time to catch his breath when he dismounted.

The door to the War Room was ajar. Sauron's voice drifted into the hall. "…every barrack, kitchen, and cradle. Leave none alive."

Khamûl approached the door near the foot of the table. People were standing in front of it, blocking it. Khamûl peered between their heads. His master stood at the head of the table, leaning over a map of Gondor. Auburn hair hung in his face, half-concealing his sharp features and broken nose. Models of siege engines weighed down the corners of the scroll.

The door near the head of the table was ajar. Khamûl flung open the door, accidentally hitting his master.

"Khamûl, what the hell." Sauron rubbed his arm.

"The Lady … in Green…sent you…." He held out the letter and trailed off, breathing hard.

Sauron froze. "You saw Yavanna?" He broke the seal and bent to read. When he looked up, his face was corpse-white. He shoved past Khamûl to reach the corridor.

The Witch King jumped to his feet and shoved Khamûl out of the way.

Khamûl jumped up and followed the two of them. His legs still ached and his lungs burned, and he struggled to keep up, losing sight of them after four flights of stairs. He picked up the scent again on the eighth floor where banging sounds emerged from the volcano side of the Tower where Sauron kept rooms for his personal use.

The doorway to the antechamber stood open. Inside, Angmar pounded on a heavy wooden door with his fist. "Open this door. We need to talk."

Members of Sauron's personal guard, minor officials, and servants who didn't need to be there crowded around in the hall. Khamûl waved them away.

Sauron's manservant, a middle-aged man of Númenorian descent, busied himself in the outer room, straightening things that didn't need to be straightened. Khamûl was serious about clearing the rooms. "You too. You're done for the day." Khamûl pointed toward the door.

He was just pulling the outer door shut when Urzahil of Umbar tried to push through. "As The Mouth of Sauron and Mordor's Chief Ambassador, I need to know what's going on."

"For now, you can be the Doorstop of Sauron. Stand here and don't let anyone in." Khamûl shouldered the door and slit the bolt. Urzahil's words came muffled through the heavy planks. "Open this door at once! You can't lock me out, I outrank you." Pompous git.

Angmar tried the inner door. It was locked. He spoke an enchantment, low and harsh-sounding, over the latch. Still locked. He cursed under his breath. "That should have worked."

He stepped back and kicked the door beside the handle. The wood splintered, and the door swung open. The door jamb bloomed with fragments of pale wood where the strike plate had been.

Angmar leaned again the shattered door-jamb, his arms crossed. "Spill. Someone got to you. What was it? Blackmail or extortion?"

Khamûl stood in the doorway, hesitant to enter his master's chamber without being invited.

Inside, tall windows looked out on the volcano. The fountaining of lava had ceased, although orange light still flickered in the crater.

The shutters had been folded back, leaving the room open to the sulfur-fouled air. The breeze carried the April chill, stirring the papers on the table. Khamûl would have put wood on the fire, but the room didn't have a fireplace.

The only decoration on the walls was an ancient standard hanging above the headboard, the plain black linen faded and deteriorated with age. It bore no device, but its meaning was well-known - Servant of Melkor.

Their master lay on the narrow bed, facing the wall with his arms around his body. One arm covered his eyes, and his mouth moved in silent speech. Khamûl could read lips reasonably well. He only caught a little, but what he did see included "Creator of All Things" and "grant me courage."

Khamûl suddenly felt cold. He had never seen his master in a state of despair before. Sauron was a fighter. Once when he'd been mortally wounded in battle and bleeding out, he still had the presence of mind to slay the Elf who'd run him through. Seeing him collapse before the fight even began was not like him.

Angmar crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed. He laid a hand on their master's ankle. "Mairon, I'm on your side. I want to help you, but you have to tell me what happened."

"Go away. You can't help me." Sauron didn't move.

"Just tell me what happened," said Angmar.

Sauron waved a hand toward a small table against the wall. On its polished surface sat the letter, with the seal broken and half open. It was folded in thirds, like a personal letter. Khamûl went to the table and picked it up.

The broken halves of the wax seals bore no identifying imprint. Khamûl unfolded the letter. There were only two lines of text, without greeting or signature.

The flowing script was written in black ink on cream-colored parchment. It was written in an unfamiliar language. He scanned the page, but didn't see a single word he knew. He read the first few words aloud, sounding out the familiar Tengwar letters.

"You're pronouncing it wrong." Angmar jumped up and snatched the letter from Khamûl's hands. He translated,

     It was given to me to destroy.
     Do nothing to save yourself.

Sauron wailed, a high, shrill keening like an animal being killed.

"So that would explain why Khamûl and I are dead, and you've been reduced to a spirit haunting the broken stones around your ruined Tower. Funny, we didn't notice when it happened," said Angmar.

"I'm aware that it hasn't been destroyed. Yet," said their Master.

"It's obviously fake, a clever ruse engineered to stop the invasion," said Angmar.

"It's not fake. I know my old master's handwriting, and Yavanna delivered it to Khamûl."

"In that case, it's exceedingly cruel. He's telling you it's about to happen, and you can't do a thing about it." Angmar's voice was steady, but the letter trembled in his hand.

"Aulë is not cruel. He's capable of dispatching his own people, but he'd do it with a single blow, unanticipated and unfeared. He doesn't make threats, and he doesn't gloat."

Khamûl said, "The letter says, It was given to me to destroy, but it doesn't say, and I'm going to do it. What if it's not a threat? What if it's a warning? It has the look of something sent in great secrecy, like a dispatch from a spy which had to pass through many hands and risk having its seal broken and its contents read. If I were to guess, I'd say your old master is tipping you off about something, and is afraid of getting in trouble if he's caught."

Sauron lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. "Then how do you explain, Nothing can save you?

Angmar took the letter from Khamûl. "The exact words are, Do nothing to save yourself."

Sauron sat up and swung his feet to the floor, suddenly animated.

"That's the hidden message! To save yourself, Do nothing. The letter arrived when we were about to invade Gondor. That can't be a coincidence. I think Aulë is telling me, If you call off the War, I won't destroy the Ring.

"Now for the unpleasant part. I have to tell my captains that the Invasion is off." Angmar's face fell. He was to have led the invasion, but was quick to hide his disappointment.

Sauron headed for the door, but came to a dead stop at the splintered doorjamb, where a decorative iron door lock hung twisted and bent from the ruined wood.

"I made that latch with my own hands. Why'd you have to break it?"

"Well, your latch almost broke my foot, so we're even," said Angmar.

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The Mansions of Aulë - Present Day (TA 3018)

After giving the note to Yavanna to deliver, Aulë returned to the Vault. He lit the forge, then gathered up all the notes he'd made when trying to figure out how the Ring was made.

He fed loose sheets of paper into the fire one by one: pages of writing, calculations, diagrams, procedures, lists. It was interesting to see some of his early ideas that hadn't panned out, and also the finished documentation of things that had, recorded with more care and in neater handwriting.

After the loose sheets were gone, he burned the larger items: the long scroll with the carefully drawn schematic and the notebook he'd kept throughout the whole process.

One by one, the papers caught, flared up, and blackened around the edges. The notebook didn't burn easily. He had to lift the pages with a fire rake to help them catch and be consumed, one at a time. When he was done, everything he's learned about the Ring and carefully recorded had been reduced to ash.

The Ring was still sitting on his desk. Aulë had no idea what to do with it.

His first thought was to keep it in the strongbox which held the stores of gold, mithril, and precious gems used for jewelry. It was double-locked and bolted to the floor, but opened every time someone needed precious metals for a tiara or brooch.

One drawer in his desk held short bits of string, souvenirs from long-ago festivals, and other small tools he no longer had a use for. He opened the drawer and chucked the leather bag far to the back, where it joined small-denomination coins and a few festival souvenirs he particularly liked: seashells, pewter charms, and a few brightly colored glass beads that were too nice not to keep..

A few days later, Lord Manwë entered the Forge. Aulë put down his hammer and prepared himself for the ass-chewing of his life. Manwë looked pleased. "You did it! I just heard that the volcano went out, and the invasion of Gondor fell apart. The armies of Orcs fell back beyond the Anduin and appear to have dispersed."

The note had reached Mairon, and he had heeded it. It was the first confirmation Aulë had heard.

"Well, I'll leave you be. I expect you're behind on your work after I dumped an unpleasant task like that on you."

As always happens when someone stops by to talk, the piece Aulë was working on cooled to grey-metal, too cold to work. He worked the bellows and laid the piece back on the coals. He watched the fire and realized that he'd gotten away with it.

He wouldn't tell anyone what he'd done, or to be exact, failed to do. Yavanna didn't know. She only knew he'd written to Mairon, but unless she'd lifted the seal, she didn't know what was in it. He hadn't told Eönwë, who had been Mairon's closest friend and would have liked to know he'd survived. If anyone asked him a direct question, he would avoid it.

If Lord Manwë asked him a direct question, Aulë resolved to answer truthfully. He would, if Manwë was angry with him and said, "Look at me," and if Aulë thought he already knew, then Aulë would confess, but not until.

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