The Mole and the Serpent by elennalore  

Maeglin had been living for a long time in the Halls of Nienna, so it was only natural that Lady Nienna asked him if he could kindly volunteer to show places to a new arrival. Later, Maeglin thought that he should have noticed there was something suspicious in Nienna’s request. She seldom asked him to volunteer as a guide; she knew that Maeglin preferred to stay alone after his re-embodiment, avoiding contact with other Elves, especially those who had once lived in Gondolin. But Maeglin could hardly deny Nienna anything, and he trusted that the Vala of second chances always had his best interests in mind. So he agreed to help, not thinking much about it afterwards until Nienna sent him an urgent message to come to the reception lounge for his guiding duty.

Nienna didn’t fetch him personally, even though she could move anywhere within her mansion in a heartbeat. Instead, she sent one of her Maiar, which should have been a clear warning signal to Maeglin that the new arrival, who clearly demanded all of Lady Nienna’s attention, was not an ordinary guest. But living in the shelter of Nienna’s kindness had clearly atrophied Maeglin’s sense of self-preservation, if he ever had gotten enough of it in the first place. So, he found himself walking straight into the waiting room occupied solely by Nienna and a strange, heavily armoured figure that instantly reminded Maeglin of the vile occupants of Angband.

He froze. Just then, Nienna spoke to the new arrival, and although her voice was soft, the words sounded like a command.

“You can take off your suit of armour now. You won’t need it here.”

The dark knight-like figure didn’t react at first. He stood perfectly still and, to Maeglin’s eyes, not a little menacing. Then, suddenly, Nienna’s words stirred him into action, and he raised his gauntlet-wearing hands before him. But instead of a lengthy act of undressing in the middle of the floor, he sang a couple of notes and the armour distorted and blurred before turning into a black linen tunic and leather trousers of similar style, and the spikes of his boots softened. A Maia then, Maeglin had time to notice, before the stranger’s helmet and visor vanished altogether, revealing a face that belonged to no stranger at all. Sauron’s face.

Sauron looked – not quite as menacing as Maeglin remembered him. He looked distressed, but also like someone who had finally started to believe that the worst was, perhaps, over. Nienna smiled encouragingly at him under her grey hood. The Lady of second chances indeed!

Maeglin knew that he was looking at an asylum seeker, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Sauron must have shown some amount of redemptive behaviour to end up here instead of into the Void with his former Master, but Maeglin knew too well that Sauron was capable of lies and half-truths. He also felt a little betrayed. Nienna should have asked him before bringing Maeglin’s enemy under the same roof as him. But Nienna knew more than him, and the helpless why on Maeglin’s lips was left unvoiced for now.

Besides, were there really any Maiar or Elves left who didn’t loathe Sauron by now and who would volunteer to be his tour guide in the Halls of Nienna?

Sauron’s eyes were everywhere else in the room but on Maeglin’s. Still, he had a feeling that Sauron had already recognised him unless he had lost his memory together with his wrath. Currently, he seemed to be intensely studying the stone arches and stained-glass windows and silently smiling at one of the little imp statues that decorated the walls. His hair had the same fiery colour as before, and he stood straight as the lieutenant he had once been. Maeglin wondered how long it would take before he would cause havoc in the Halls of Nienna.

“This is Maeglin Lómion,” Nienna introduced him. Apparently, Sauron needed no introduction. “He has kindly offered to show you places. Of course, Maeglin had no idea about whom he would be meeting here. I felt he would have declined the offer if I had given more details. Forgive me, Maeglin – do you still feel that you can help me?”

It was clear that Nienna, for some strange reason of her own, wanted him to do this. Maeglin sighed heavily.

He forced himself to meet Sauron’s eyes. It felt like the both of them would have wanted to be somewhere else. “It’s alright, my Lady. I’ve promised to serve you, and I know you have enough to do without... this. I will walk him around and explain how things work here. Just... is there anything I should know? Anywhere he shouldn’t go?”

Only now Maeglin noticed a dim golden shimmer, like a collar, around Sauron’s neck. A similarly shimmering chain, almost invisible, was attached on it, and Nienna was holding the other end of it. When Maeglin blinked, the restraint vanished from sight, but he knew it was still there on the unseen plane.

“As long as he stays in the area, he will be good,” Nienna confirmed. “Thank you, Maeglin. You may begin the orientation tour now; you know how to find me if you need to.”

Those were her departing words. Her fana began to fade, and after a moment, Maeglin realised that he was left alone with a suddenly very nervous-looking Sauron. Maeglin summoned up his inner strength and gave his once jailer and interrogator the bravest smile he could muster.

“We better get going,” Maeglin said, surrendering himself to the now inevitable reunion. “What do you want to see first?”

* * * * *

Usually, Sauron was proud of his perfect memory, but now he wished he would not remember so vividly the ugly details of his prior meeting with Maeglin Lómion. Not because he had failed – no, his interrogation had been very successful, the results greatly pleasing to Melkor. But it had been a nasty business done to someone who could have been, in other circumstances, worthy of knowing better. A recurring theme in his life, it seemed like. Sauron had only managed to push Maeglin out of his mind because he had been sure that they would never meet again.

He hadn’t counted himself among those who searched for healing in Aman. And he had forgotten that the Elves tended to be re-embodied after a while.

Sauron had a feeling that Maeglin had just asked him something and he should probably reply before the Elf became nervous or something, but the only thing that popped into his mind was a blunt, “You don’t have to fear me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Maeglin stared at him unflinchingly. His attire was dark blue and spring green, and it looked surprisingly stylish, not something you’d expect to see at Nienna’s Halls. His clothes were decorated with fascinating embroidery, patterned ivy leaves and tender white flowers. He looked rather like an elf king of a greenwood, and Sauron wondered why he had chosen to stay inside Nienna’s dark Halls instead of under deep green foliage.

“You don’t frighten me,” Maeglin commented at last. “Not anymore. Anyway, I think we should be going – I will show you the usual places, unless you have a preference.”

Sauron didn’t; he supposed they didn’t have a dungeon in this place anyway.

He patiently followed Maeglin through dark wood-panelled corridors, decorated with silver mirrors and candles in wall sconces. Perhaps it was because of the route Maeglin had chosen for them, but they seldom met anyone else on the way, only a couple of grey Maiar walking in meditative silence. The lack of windows felt soothing, as if they were underground, and gradually Sauron’s newly rebuilt body started to relax. Maeglin didn’t talk much either, which was a relief; Sauron didn’t know how he could have answered his potential inquiries.

Maeglin took him to see the communal kitchen, and an arts and crafts workshop. There was apparently even a glass-blowing studio somewhere. Nienna’s Halls appeared to be livelier than Sauron had thought. At these places, they couldn’t avoid meeting other occupants, and some of those cast disapproving looks at Maeglin. Not towards Sauron, though; his current Elf-like appearance was not generally recognised outside Angband and Eregion, and none of the Elves they met had lived in those places. It was strange to realise that the ill-concealed contempt was reserved for Maeglin instead of Sauron himself, but it felt best not to comment about it.

There were silent areas, as well: a meditation hall and a promising-looking library, and several shady nooks in the inner garden, completely surrounded by walls and many-towered buildings. Looking around, Sauron couldn’t claim that he disliked the place where he had been sentenced to live. At Máhanaxar, it had felt like the best of the options available for him. He couldn’t return to Aulë, and the nothingness of Mandos terrified him. But he had not considered the possibility of meeting someone from his past here and being affected by it. He noticed he was avoiding Maeglin’s dark questioning eyes. How irritating! Maeglin, not him, should be the one afraid.

“Next, I will show you your bedchamber,” Maeglin said with the courtesy of a professional tour guide. “And that’ll be the end of the orientation tour. Any questions?”

Sauron had just one. “Why are you staying here? You have clearly been living here for long, but I suspect that unlike me, you’re free to leave this place behind whenever you want.”

A flicker of something crossed Maeglin’s face, and as he spoke, there was a shadow of an emotion in his voice. “Where would I go? It’s not that easy to find your own place, not even in Valinor. Especially in Valinor. You should know it, too.”

“The Valar gave me about three choices,” Sauron said, “and this one sounded the most tolerable option.”

“You will have to learn to tolerate me.”

“I can do that. And you?”

“As long as you keep your hands off me.” But it was said without bitterness.

Maeglin took him to a separate wing where the residents’ bedrooms were located. They walked through a dimly-lit corridor with a line of identical wooden doors on both sides. Sauron felt a growing unease as he walked past them, wishing to avoid a confrontation with any Elf who could recognise him, but thankfully the corridor stayed deserted. They turned the corner to a shorter corridor.

“I brought you this way so that you could get a sense of direction, but there’s a shortcut, too, a hidden staircase, that takes you downstairs. Here it is. Very helpful, I use it myself when I don’t fancy meeting people. Which is all the time, I guess. Your room seems to be across mine – Nienna’s decision. Perhaps this is the area reserved for the black sheep of the household.”

They had stopped in front of a plain-looking door. The only other door faced it on the opposite side – it had to be Maeglin’s room. Sauron felt almost hysterical; this level of cosiness was not what he had expected when he had knelt down before Manwë earlier that day.

“You babble a lot, Maeglin,” he said coolly. “I didn’t know you could talk so much.”

“And this is the end of the tour,” Maeglin said, ignoring his comment. He opened the door of the guest room and let Sauron inside. “If you need something, you can knock on my door on the opposite side or just call Nienna. See you later.”

* * * * *

Maeglin hadn’t yet got used to the fact that he now lived next door to Sauron. They seldom met, though, and Maeglin suspected that Sauron mainly stayed in his private chamber. All the bedchambers at the Halls of Nienna were identical, even these two set aside from others: practical, small, and soothing. Maeglin wondered if staying at Nienna’s Halls for a time would really change Sauron, make him regret his wrongdoings. Had it changed Maeglin? He wasn’t sure. The angry looks people gave to him told a different story – a story he shared with Sauron.

Suddenly, the walls of his room felt too tight, suffocating. He needed fresh air.

When Maeglin arrived at his favourite shady nook in the inner garden, he found the bench already occupied. To his surprise, Sauron was sitting there with a book in his hand. He seemed totally absorbed in reading, but Maeglin was suspicious – surely the Maia’s keen senses had warned him of Maeglin’s arrival. But perhaps that also meant that Sauron wanted to avoid a confrontation. Maeglin relaxed and gave a little cough to announce his presence.

Sauron raised his eyes from the book and flashed an innocent smile at Maeglin.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Maeglin answered, distracted by Sauron’s unexpected smile. “I – no one usually comes to this part of the garden.”

“Oh, it’s nicely hidden from view, isn’t it? And I like the tangled roots and heavy branches around here, even though some may feel them suffocating. Is this your favourite place, too? Shall I leave?”

Maeglin thought about it. “No, it’s fine. I think the bench is big enough for the two of us.”

Sauron made room for Maeglin, careful not to let their bodies touch as Maeglin sat down next to him. The bench was just big enough, but Maeglin had to lean against the iron armrest, which was slightly uncomfortable.

The situation threatened to become awkward very soon. Maeglin turned his attention to the book in Sauron’s hand.

“What are you reading?”

“Just something I found in the library: a history of the Dwarves. The topic interested me, and the Elvish perspective likewise,” Sauron added almost shyly, as if this revelation about his personal likings was something he was hesitant to share with Maeglin.

However, it was a topic that interested Maeglin as well. “Let me see,” he said with sudden enthusiasm and turned the book so that the cover came into view. As he had guessed, it was a book written by Curufinwë Fëanorion.

“I have read this one myself. It’s a very insightful documentary about Dwarven culture. My mother knew Curufin, the author of this book. It’s based on his experiences in Middle-earth, but he wrote it only after being re-embodied in Valinor.”

Maeglin fell silent. He had momentarily forgotten to whom he was talking. Of course Sauron knew who Curufinwë Fëanorion was.

“So, you’re a Dwarf-friend,” Sauron commented, steering the conversation away from more awkward topics.

“My father was, at least. He spent a lot of time as their guest in the Blue Mountains and came back with wonderful presents and stories. I wish I could have learned to know them better, before...”

Suddenly, Maeglin’s heart felt heavy with sadness, and he sighed deeply. Sauron’s muscles tensed, and his hands clutched the book he was holding – now Maeglin could see that he was missing a finger. It felt like they both had some unspoken history.

The next time Maeglin visited the garden it was a hot sunny day. He was not surprised to find Sauron at his favourite spot where dense green foliage provided shelter from the sun. Maeglin hesitated only for a moment before joining him under the shade of the trees. He hated the noontide sun more than this new version of Sauron.

Maeglin had brought his unfinished embroidery work with him, but that was not what caught Sauron’s attention.

“What are those?” Sauron exclaimed, pointing his finger towards Maeglin. It was a rather demanding gesture, but Sauron seemed genuinely curious.

“Do you mean my sunglasses? I wear them outside on bright sunny days like this; my eyes don’t like the sun much.”

“Let me look at them.”

Their hands briefly touched as Maeglin gave the glasses to Sauron for inspection. He had made them from polished glass after several unsuccessful attempts in a workshop. A metal frame kept them in place on his nose. The glass was smoky in colour and helped to reduce the sunlight just enough that his eyes didn’t hurt anymore when he walked outside on days like this. Maeglin was very proud of his sunglasses, and seeing Sauron nod in approval made his heart jump in excitement.

“You made them yourself? That’s amazing. My Orcs used leather hats with a wide brim, but we never thought of sunglasses, really.”

His thoughtless comment brought back unpleasant memories, and something of that must have shown on Maeglin’s face, for Sauron stopped speaking abruptly.

“Of course,” he continued at last, “it’s a bit too late to think about that. There will be no Orcs in Valinor.”

Sauron looked suddenly quite sad and tired, and the bitter words Maeglin had been about to say died on his lips. They both had lost their realms.

“Perhaps you can show me the glass workshop one day,” Sauron suggested.

“Yes. Not today, though.”

Maeglin felt Sauron watching him as he patiently worked with a piece of embroidery he had brought with him, but few words were changed between them until the evening bell called them in.

* * * * *

Sauron felt small and unimportant in his cell, not worthy of his original name anymore.  He wondered if it would have been better that the Valar had sent him to Mandos, but he had feared the finality of it, and Nienna had sensed his fear and offered him a choice. Living at the Halls of Nienna felt less like a new start and more like hibernation, though. Without his armour and the aura of radiance, he was unrecognisable for most people there. Only Maeglin, who had been in Angband, had recognised him. It would have been better, perhaps, if Sauron were publicly shunned, but the Noldor of Eregion preferred Aulë’s Halls. Instead, it was Maeglin whose history had made him outcast from the Elves. It was a cruel irony.

He thought about Maeglin in the loneliness of his chamber on the other side of the corridor and wondered if he was lying on his bed, as well, brooding over his life. He didn’t deserve any of it, Sauron decided. His steps took him out of his bedroom and in front of Maeglin’s door without thinking. He knocked on the door lightly.

Maeglin opened the door and, after a moment’s hesitation, let him in. He had not been brooding – instead, he seemed to have been writing. A brown leather notebook lay open on his desk, next to a quill pen and an ink pot. Sauron couldn’t resist a quick peek. The text – there was a lot of it, like a diary – was written in Cirth runes, but as much as Sauron wanted to read it, he couldn’t make sense of it. It wasn’t any language he knew; not even Khuzdul. It was a puzzle; his curiosity was kindled.

“What is written here?” he couldn’t resist asking.

Maeglin gave him a sharp look. “It’s a writing system of my own making. For keeping it private from nosy people like you.”

Sauron sat down at the desk despite Maeglin’s disapproving look and took the notebook in his hands. “I’d like to try to decipher it. I made a whole new language once; your code can’t be impossible for someone like me. In what language have you written it?”

“I’m not saying. Try to solve it, then, if you are as skilled as you claim to be.” There was a hint of uncertainty in Maeglin’s voice, however. Perhaps he was worried that Sauron would learn his private thoughts written in the journal. “But just that page.”

It took him until nightfall to solve Maeglin’s puzzle. It was Quenya, after all, but coded in a clever way, worthy of admiration. It was probably safe from any prying eyes except his.

Maeglin let him read the whole page afterwards. It started as a description of Maeglin’s day, but after that, Sauron found some interesting observations about himself.

Sauron looks lost in these Halls, like he doesn’t belong. He doesn’t! But where would he go otherwise? We’re in the same situation, only he’s more like a prisoner. His eyes are weary, the fire in them has become mere embers. I wonder if he has hidden his radiance or lost it altogether. His other hand often touches the place of his missing finger as if he thinks it’s still there. He has a haunted look in his eyes, but I don’t find the right words to ask about it –

The text stopped abruptly, and Sauron knew that Maeglin had been writing these words just before the knock at the door. He hadn’t realised that he had been unconsciously fiddling with his finger stump. It was a bit embarrassing that Maeglin had noticed it, but he pushed the thought away. Another sentence caught his attention. I wonder if he has hidden his radiance or lost it altogether.

“I wish I knew the answer,” he muttered to himself.

Maeglin asked him what he meant, but it felt all too much to elaborate. There was an animal figure made of glass standing on the desk. Sauron took it in his hand, studying it instead of answering. It was a glass mole, skilfully made, smoky brown with a cute pink snout; the emblem of Maeglin’s house. The glass figure felt cool and smooth to his touch.

“What happened to your finger?” Maeglin asked abruptly.

It was too big a question to answer, but he had found Maeglin’s company soothing, and Maeglin deserved to know, at least a part of it.

“I lost something precious. A ring, and a part of myself. I don’t seem to be able to grow it back.”

“A wound,” Maeglin mused, “of a metaphysical kind, then. I lost someone who was precious to me, too. But now I know we were not meant for each other. I’ve learned to live with my wound, I think.”

“Perhaps you could teach me how to do that.” The words were out before Sauron could restrain himself.

He put the glass mole back onto the desk, beginning to leave. He feared that he had revealed too much. It made him vulnerable, and he could hardly stand the feeling.

“I better go. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

* * * * *

Sauron was nothing like Maeglin had expected him to be. His face was not the menacing face of Morgoth’s lieutenant; there was a new softness in him that had appeared after he came to Nienna’s Halls. Perhaps it was the Vala’s influence; Maeglin could not tell.

After Sauron’s brief surprise visit to Maeglin’s room, he seemed to be avoiding Maeglin. It had been a curious visit. On that day, almost two weeks ago now, Maeglin had finally written his thoughts down in his diary, and then Sauron had entered. Maeglin had both feared and hoped that Sauron would crack the code and read the words, and it had happened, and in the next moment, Sauron had revealed something personal himself. Maeglin touched the back of the glass mole, remembering how gently Sauron had held the little figure in his hand, a hand with a missing finger. His secret wound.

Sauron had asked his help before he stormed from the room, looking ghastly. Maeglin wondered if all of Sauron’s gained tenderness had vanished with his quick exit. Had he turned back into Morgoth’s lieutenant now that he had accidentally shown some of his true emotions to Maeglin?

There was only one way to know what was going on in Sauron’s murky thoughts. Maeglin decided to lure Sauron out of his room, and he remembered how eager Sauron had been to see the glass-blowing studio. It was a perfect excuse.

Next morning, Maeglin slipped a piece of paper under the door of Sauron’s bedchamber. The message was written in his secret code; he was sure that Sauron, a Maia of many talents, had already memorised it. Sure enough, at the appointed time and place, Sauron was waiting for him, looking hopeful.

“So, where is this glass-blowing studio I’m finally going to see?”

“It’s in the grounds of the mansion, some distance away. Yes, you’re allowed to go there, it is still Nienna’s land,” Maeglin added, noticing Sauron’s uncertainty. “I asked her.”

They went through a gate and continued along a path surrounded by trees, flowerbeds and fountains. It was refreshing to walk in the open, but Maeglin still preferred his cosy nook in the inner garden. Sauron kept throwing nervous glances around, and every Elf walking past them made him momentarily tense up. He looked like someone who had not been among others for a long time.

“Stop flinching, please,” Maeglin commented as they walked on. “Relax. One could think that you’re guilty of all the crimes you’ve been accused of.”

“And what if I am?” Sauron snapped, but it looked like Maeglin’s words had somewhat helped to ease the tension in him.

The glass-blowing studio was a large hut in the perimeter of Nienna’s land, not unlike a smithy. Maeglin saw Sauron relaxing further, his eyes glimmering, and some of his old radiance had returned with the obvious excitement. It had been the right decision to take Sauron there, Maeglin thought happily.

It was mesmerising to watch glass-blowers at work, and the objects they created were of exceptional beauty. No one paid any attention to Maeglin and Sauron as they stood in the corner, watching – glass-blowing needed great concentration. It was pure bad luck that one of the glass-blowers had been a thrall in Angband in his previous life. Having watched the artisans for a time, Sauron, impatient, crossed the area and went to the hot workshop, eager to take a closer look at the kilns. The Elf who had been working there recognised him at once. Maeglin could see the horror dawning in his eyes – followed by a sound of shattering glass as the bowl he had been holding dropped.

“Gorthaur.” The name echoed in the workshop as more and more Elves understood who the stranger standing among them really was. “Sauron. Gorthaur.”

Maeglin couldn’t see Sauron’s expression, just his flame-red hair and his very straight back. He stood still, only the four fingers of his ring hand twitched slightly. Maeglin feared that the Maia might do something rash.

“We should leave,” Maeglin said loud enough for Sauron to hear it over the commotion in the workshop. “Please.” He couldn’t call him Sauron, not now, and he wished he had asked Sauron’s real name before. Thankfully Sauron seemed to have heard him, and as he glanced at Maeglin, his eyes burning like little furnaces.

“Yes, I think so. Let’s leave.”

Now angry looks were cast at Maeglin as well. The horrified crowd became furious, closing in on them. At some point, Maeglin had gone and taken Sauron’s hand, trying to steer him towards the doorway, but angry and frightened Elves threatened to surround them.

“It is him! The traitor of Gondolin! He’s the one who brought Sauron here!”

“They should not be allowed to be here!”

“Drive them away!”

It was chaos, there was no way out of it now. Maeglin felt his body trembling with fear. Seldom had the Elves been so openly hostile towards him anymore; it was Sauron whose presence had triggered this reaction. Still, Maeglin felt strange sympathy for him.

It was just then that Nienna intervened. She appeared from a cloud of grey mist, and the crowd made room for her, instantly recognising their Lady. She was veiled, and Maeglin couldn’t see her eyes, but tears had made wet streaks on her face. The workshop fell silent at once. Maeglin pulled Sauron even closer to him.

Nienna stood between them and the angry crowd, raising her hands so that the long sleeves of her cloak hid them from view.

“Sauron is under my protection,” she announced. “And Maeglin Lómion has a right to live here in peace.”

“We are leaving, my Lady,” Maeglin said just as cries of protest began to rise from the crowd once more. “I’m sorry about this incident.” He kept his eyes lowered and felt Sauron’s warm hand firmly squeezing his own as they walked out, side by side, with slow, determined steps.

Maeglin didn’t remember much of their walk back across the garden and to the mansion. Neither of them spoke until they stood in the familiar corridor, facing the doors of their bedchambers. Sauron opened the door to his room first.

“Would you like to stay with me for a while?”

Maeglin turned around. His heart was suddenly beating faster, but it was a good kind of feeling. “Yes,” he answered and slipped in behind Sauron. There were no personal items in Sauron’s room; his desk was empty except a half-burned candle, and the bed was neatly made. Sauron collapsed on it and gave a deep sigh that was partly a cry. Without thinking, Maeglin sat down on the edge of the same bed. What he felt was not fear; it was worry, and more.

“Are you alright?” he asked after a while. Sauron lay curled up, facing the wall. Light danced on his flame-red hair and made it look like embers in a hearth.

“How can you stand it?” Sauron said in a muffled voice. “Their contempt. I hate how much it makes me feel inferior. Imperfect. Of course, I can only blame myself...”

“I don’t know. Nienna has taught me a lot, truly. Little acts of kindness, forgiveness, self-acceptance. I’ve learned as much as I can, but it’s not always easy. I’ve lived here a long time, but I’m still afraid to leave her land and face the real world out there.”

Sauron raised his head from the pillow, arching his neck towards Maeglin. “Come lie down with me, Lómion,” he said. “Just for a little while, please. I don’t want to be alone in this room right now.”

The request felt genuine, and Maeglin realised he didn’t find it repulsive. Sauron turned on his back so that Maeglin could lie down next to him. He lay on his side, an arm protectively wrapped over the Maia’s chest. It didn’t feel threatening to be so close to Sauron, just very warm. Maeglin closed his eyes and rested his head on Sauron’s shoulder.

“I realised, before, that I don’t know your real name,” Maeglin mused.

There was a long pause before the reply. “It’s Mairon.”

“The admirable one?” Maeglin couldn’t quite keep amusement away from his voice. “But of course.”

“I’m hardly worthy of the name now,” Sauron added quickly. “I’m not proud of all that I have done in my past.”

Their eyes locked together. Maeglin looked bravely into the depths of those mysterious eyes and said: “Neither am I. But I’m still going to call you Mairon. The past doesn’t matter, we’re not living in it, and I don’t want to call you Sauron anymore.”

There was a pause during which Maeglin feared that he had been too bold or said too much, but then he felt Mairon’s body relax and his nose nuzzle up against him.

“That tickles,” Maeglin commented, and Mairon obediently shifted his position a little, letting himself be held in Maeglin’s embrace. It was like resting against a fiery serpent, but this one didn’t frighten him; Sauron had shed his skin. Something had changed between them, and Maeglin was filled with happy anticipation.

* * * * *

Nienna had the sense to knock on Mairon’s door. Subtle music full of melancholy had already announced her presence to Mairon; he called her in after assuring Maeglin that there was no danger, it was just the lady of the house.

For some obscure reason, Maeglin had stayed. They had spent the rest of the day, and the following night, cuddled up comfortably under a grey woollen blanket. Maeglin had left Mairon’s room only briefly to search for supper, but he had come back quite soon, carrying a nice evening meal for two. They had talked a little, and eaten the food, but mostly they had just held each other in a warm embrace. It should not have been possible – Maeglin had all the reasons to loathe him – but they chose not to question the turn of things. And Maeglin called him Mairon now. It gave him hope; perhaps he could really become worthy of his name once more.

Nienna didn’t look surprised to find Maeglin at Mairon’s room. There was something in her solemn presence that drew their attention, and they fell silent, waiting for her to speak – and announce their doom.

“I’m so sorry, Mairon,” Nienna said, “but I can’t let you walk around here freely. I seriously miscalculated the amount of trauma and stress that meeting you will cause to your former victims. This is a place of healing, and I have to think of all my guests. I have new lodgings for you.”

Her words made Mairon’s heart sink, but in truth, he had expected something like this since yesterday’s incident.

“I understand,” Mairon said mildly. He felt Maeglin’s hand seeking his for encouragement. Whatever it had been between them, it was too late. “Alright, where will I be sent from here? To Mandos?” His voice threatened to shake, but he didn’t allow it. “To the Void?”

“Nothing like that,” Nienna answered. Her voice never lost its sympathetic quality, not even now. “I promised to give you a shelter, and I will. There is a lone woodland cottage on the border of my land. No one lives there currently, as it’s a place of isolation for people who seek solace in places like that. I would like you to move there, under my protection. That would be safest for everyone, and it’s not a bad place to stay. I think you’d like the forge that’s built next to the cottage.”

Mairon thought furiously, his mind going through the suggestion for potential pitfalls. As if he had much choice in the matter. It was either this or the Halls of Mandos. But before he managed to formulate an answer, Maeglin spoke.

“He won’t go there alone. If he goes, I will go with him!”

Mairon turned to look at Maeglin and saw that he had spoken with total sincerity. Mairon felt an unexpected sparkle of joy as their eyes met; it was as if a wonderful serpent had awakened inside him, dancing to the rhythm of his heartbeat. A little gasp escaped him.

“Only if you want to, of course,” Maeglin added, suddenly shy, and Mairon realised that he should probably say something.

“I think it’s a great idea,” he agreed, his fingers brushing lightly Maeglin’s hand for encouragement. “Of course, you can come and go as you will. But I’d love to see you around. I’m certain that even Lady Nienna doesn’t have anything against it.”

She didn’t. They got a little more private time together before final arrangements had to be made, and they spent it cuddling comfortably on Mairon’s bed, the mole and the serpent. Less words were changed than gentle caresses, but through osanwë, they shared a common thought. Their bond was a wondrous thing, and suddenly the future didn’t look so bleak anymore.

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