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Perversity of the absence of purity,
And purgatory in the ashes of paradise.Risus Sardonius - Urgehal
It happened by chance that Melkor knew about him.
During one Valar’s gathering, Aulë was talking about his apprentices and helper. To Him, there are few things on the face of Arda more annoying than the voice of Aulë.
Even if Melkor knows that no one can surpass His power and knowledge, He and Aulë share the same attractiveness about creating. Indeed both of them desired, from the past who is now deceased, to create something from Nothing. The only difference was that: Aulë, as a weak as he is, gave up and submitted immediately.
The strength of intent is not for anyone.
His name, Mairon, resounded in the Valar’s council four or five times. That was unusual: no one had that highly respected position before that moment.
‘That's just boasting’, thinks Melkor, ‘Like playing children they fool themselves. Pointless and ridiculous. No less than laughable’.
But doubts crowded his mind.
He waited until the forges, around The Court of Aulë, were empty, late that day, when the foundries were already cold and all the instruments were put in order; in the shape of haze he reached the heart of the forge, silently. There He found what He didn’t really expect. Works made with flawless competence and, above all, inestimable brilliance.
After all, only a creator and a forger - like Him - understands another forger.
In such way, Mairon’ s works recalls Him about Himself. And that idea took Him completely.
Such a brilliant mind should be useful.
Even though His power has no limit and He commands ice as well as fire, a spirit of fire embodied in a forger is exactly what He needs. Not only to control the opposite, between the eternal cold and the everlasting inferno, but also to attempt a new approach in preparation for the arrival of the Children of Ilúvatar.
He tried, once, to catch the fire. But it was a spirit in a feminine body. And women are talented at betrayal.
He tried to take, to possess, to violate her. But she was too bright, unbearably bright for eyes that dwell in the Void.
She escaped like a free flame and made fun of him: “You, liar and traitor, who cannot control yourself, you really think you can command over Life?”.
He set that He would not commit the same mistake.
A spirit of fire in a masculine body should mean loyalty, devotion, oath of allegiance, even faith if necessary.
Time He needs.
To provoke a dependence, He would produce a pathological state of addiction. This should be guaranteed by a daily contact, a permanent and devout presence. And something more powerful than a bare logical reason or a mere pledge of power.
In the creation of Arda, in Their music, there was only one weak point, as He knows. He tried to dissolve it with his opposition but the One prevented it, raising another musical theme. And, now, He is going to take full advantages from it.
Someone has called it ‘Love’.
It takes six days to seduce the Maia. On the seventh, Mairon knees before Him.
**** The first error: Fascination
That day Mairon is late.
This never happens, not to him. However there has been something, in the previous hours, that impeded the best performing of his normal activities.
He’s walking towards the gate when, all of a sudden, a dark cloudlike shape wraps him up for just a second before standing out the horizon.
And the sight, he is presented at, is unique: terrible and majestic at the same time. Sublime.
He’s sure that his eyes are seeing two hands. Those are lifting the blue skin of the Great Lake only to squash it again with wrath, fury and a roar.
He’s sure that his eyes are observing two eyes. Brilliant as shadows and deep as highlights. And, then, it’s happens. Power and sparks. The whole valley lights up in a brilliant white colour. Then a rumble. And the trees near the shores are in flames.
Mairon steps back cautiously; but he’s not scared, not at all. The spectacle is intriguing and involving and he embraces the vision wide eyes and, stunned, opens his mouth. There’s a sort of fascination in his eyes.
It is not common to see such a bold change in weather. In the Isle of Almaren everything is temperate and moderate: it’s custom to exercise restraint in order to obtain equilibrium between elements.
Mairon is sure about the fact that, now, he’s trembling as a mouth breaths against him. His eyelashes crystallize, tears like gems from the corners of his eyes and a white vision overcomes him. But the snow storm doesn’t last longer. In the midst of it, Mairon recognises His face and, then, He’s gone, vanished like the snowstorm.
Being a spirit of such nature, Mairon is aware about the creative energy of the fire; in it lies a rational and productive force. Fire might seem like chaos, but it’s not: the fire destroy only to recreate again. However its power is not easy to be dominated. Every single use of it it’s like a battle against destruction.
‘Don’t trust Him’, they used to whisper, ‘even if He belong to the same kin, He is not like the others’. Now Mairon can easily see by himself that He is different.
‘Entropy, He’s entropy’, thinks Mairon with fascination and a glimpse of awe.
**** The second error: to accept Him as a Master
The open side of the forge, where they beat the hot metals, is glimmering the warm red colour of the live coal and firebrands. Mairon is focused on the sword he has just shaped and cleaned, the last task of his day.
He feels immediately an unknown presence.
“Excuse you”, says a voice, deeper than the abyss, as He takes the sword from Mairon’s hand.
Mairon gasps but doesn’t comment. What might he say to a Vala?
His bulk is huge, bigger than Manwë’ s. His hair, long and black as the deepest void, is not gathered or adorned like the Valar use to do. His eyes have the cold and brilliant colour of the ice, emphasised by his deep blue – almost black – sclera. His skin recalls the milk with a tone of grey mist. And He smells of smoked wood.
Melkor observes the sword in absolute silence. Then, He plants the sword on the ground and, with His massive mass, He props His weight against it.
The sword breaks up into little pieces.
“You are here to destroy my work?”, says Mairon with his husky voice, visibly upset.
“I don’t destroy. I perfect things. Even spirits”, replies Melkor keeping eyes contact.
“As I see”, says Melkor walking through the forge, ”your master has not taught you many things”.
Mairon observes Him in silence with puzzled face.
“I wonder why. Which is the meaning of having a disciple, if you keep secrets for you”, adds the Vala.
“What are you talking about?”, asks, eventually, Mairon frowning his forehead.
“I’m simply supposing that your master is not properly teaching all that you need”, says Melkor. Then, he adds:
“Or that, he’s hiding something to you. As they said, you’re one of the best of his disciples. Maybe he’s scared of you?”
Mairon listens to him carefully. Then he replies:
“I don’t believe you! My master Aulë is hiding nothing to me!”.
Melkor doesn’t know if he’s irritated more by Mairon’s proud eyes or for the fact he mentioned Aulë’s name in his presence.
But He keeps His mind calm; after all, He doesn’t want to provoke Mairon.
“For sure you are a loyal disciple. And for sure you master deserves your praiseworthy words. So, I tend to the third hypothesis”, smiles Melkor as he approaches Mairon, taking place behind his back, “your master is not at your level”, says the Vala, whispering in his ears.
“Betrayal”, murmurs Mairon, turning only his head to face Him, “this is mere haughtiness!”.
Melkor places His hands over Mairon shoulders. “There are things that even your master doesn’t know”.
Mairon steps forward. He doesn’t want to be touched, there’s no need of this physical contact. Then, he turns to face Him.
“Prove it!”, he says with a burning flame in his eyes, “Or leave before I call my master”.
Melkor stands and doesn’t break eyes contact with him. Mairon’s vehemence is something unexpected and intriguing.
“How many kind of steel do you use?”, asks Melkor.
“Three. A hard steel jacket folded several times on itself to cover three parts of a mixed softer steel core; it forms the central section and the non-cutting side of the blade”, explains Mairon.
“Not bad”, comments the Vala.
“Honestly, it’s the perfect method”, says the Maia with provocation in his voice.
“You search for perfection?”, says Melkor with a light smile.
“Let me show you what is perfection”, replies Melkor approaching the forge, “I’ve found the perfect method. It’s necessary to not focus only on the lamination. The most important thing is the differential hardening of the blade to give a hard edge while maintaining a softer blade spine”.
“I’ve created the most durable and break resistant sword known in the whole Arda. It’s so flexible that it supports my whole weight, bending without breaking. Can you image what does this mean in a battle?”, asks Melkor with a sinister flame in his eyes.
Mairon’s eyes sparkles for some seconds. The Vala catches again his fascination.
But his eyes change almost immediately, turning in a deep shame and anger.
“That’s treason! There’s no battle in our Blessed Isle!”, trails off the Maia, eventually, with troubled voice, “Stop it, I cannot tolerate Your bitter words anymore!”.
“See what I’ve create”, ends Melkor, without giving relevance to Mairon’s words, working in the forge.
The followings hours passes exactly like Mairon hopes.
Melkor begins by heating a lump of raw low-carbon steel in the forge. Then He hammers and folds the steel and hammers it out again. He repeats this process many times to drive out any impurities from the metal.
Mairon learns avidly every single passage.
Next, the Vala begins to work on the high-carbon steel, this time, He hammers and folds many more times: up to 30,000 layers, as Mairon’s experts eyes estimated . That’s astonishing and totally new for him.
Next, the Vala joins together the two parts of the blade heating and hammering the two pieces until they form a solid bond.
“Look”, says Melkor with his deep voice, “very careful with this passage. if an air bubble or piece of dirt remains trapped between the two parts of the blade, the sword would be worthless in battle”.
“No weak points”, comments the Maia.
“Precisely”, adds the Vala without being distracted.
The blade is then tempered. Firstly, it’s heated in the forge and, secondly, cooled by Melkor’s hands.
“The impeccable quenching”, explains Melkor.
Mairon is doubly impressed: thanks to the use of his hands, he reaches two different temperatures. The steel of the blade cools more slowly, and this would make it flexible. The edge of the blade need to cool very quickly, a process that made the edge even harder.
Finally, Melkor sharps and polishes the blade.
“Here, the perfection”, he says, propping his weight on it.
The blade bends without breaking.
“You are exactly like the steel of this blade was in the beginning, Mairon. If someone would forge you, in the absolute way, you could reach the perfection easily”, says the Great Seducer.
Then, the Vala gives the sword to Mairon and leaves the forge as He came. In silence.
Mairon studies the sword. All the layers are visible on the shiny surface. It’s light and easy to handle. As well as beautiful, even if there are no decors on it or gems on the hilt, like Aulë uses to do: it’s linear, elegant and essential.
In one word, a masterpiece.
The perfect blade from the perfect Master.
**** The third error: to keep a long eye contact
The next day it’s sacred day. It’s one of those days in which Valar sit in the Garden of Lorien, playing instruments and thanking and praising the One for his blissfully blessing.
One day in which all the ripe fruits are collected and eaten all together, as the Valier sing and dance.
One day in which all the Maiar are gathered together to listen to the tale about the creation of Arda. And then to ponder and meditate on it.
Mairon has never dared to look into the Valar’ s eyes for more than some seconds. It’s called humility and it’s a pure attitude of the fëa.
But that day is different.
It is uncommon to see Melkor in the company of other Valar.
‘He travels to the Void’, voices used to whisper.
‘He searches for the Flame’, with a thinner whisper, barely audible.
‘He dwells in the darkness of the northern part of Arda’.
‘He names himself as Lord of the Earth’.
And Mairon cannot keep himself from looking Them as They are sitting right next to each other; everyone can clearly see that Melkor and Manwë are brothers in the mind of the One. Complementarity.
As Manwë laughs with His crystalline voice, Melkor stays in silence.
As Melkor speaks with His deep voice, His brother nods lightly.
As Manwë praises the One, Melkor closes His eyes.
Mairon doesn’t remember fully when Melkor turned his face to him, piercing his mind with his magnetic and icy eyes. His gaze is unbearable heavy. Mairon loses for some seconds his mental lucidity. Even if his body is firmly grounded, his mind wanders in a distant place.
As soon as he regains consciousness, Melkor is gone.
That night Mairon has night terrors.
Among the Maiar, it common to say that they never have dreams. Because a full life cannot dream anything different than its existence.
A gratified mind, in a satisfied body - thanks to the perfect stasis of the elements - just rests in a flawless and quick sleep.
The visions are not clear. Or, better, visions are perfectly clear but Mairon doesn’t know how to call them, how to describe what he sees.
The first impression is that he is physically ripped from his body, even if he has still perception of it. It seems he can transcend some boundaries, even if unconsciously.
Under his floating fëa lie bodies, like his. No, wait, those bodies are his. They are him in many versions of himself: covered in blood, crying, absent-minded, inflicting pain to someone he cannot see, walking in the Darkness, walking in the fire, flying in the sky as a shadow, mesmerised, burning something or someone, dominating things and spirits, being praised.
Then, he’s walking in the Light, receiving a different knowledge about the whole Creation and feeling a sense of removal from that world. A great pace and well-being with positive emotion come over to fill him, as countless black hands grasp his ankles, wrists and the back of the neck. He’s still floating in the air but, now, hröa and fëa are linked together again.
He’s paralysed but feels an intense and unconditional love. The black hands are lifting him slowly up to the high until the Maia reaches a unknown place filled only with silence and infinite. Serenity and peace of mind fill the Maia.
He wakes up in his bed, in a blessed despair.
His breath is cut, heart hammering in his chest, his white long hair are glued on his forehead and back; he’s sweaty and his body hot as never before.
He stands up, he cannot tolerate to be in that state. The cold floor under his feet gives him a sense of harmony.
He walks through his chamber to reach the mirror. His body is reflected. Everything seems normal as usual. His face is still a little overturned but all seem alright.
But it’s not. He is not alright.
**** The fourth error: the relationship
The spruce forest, that lie about three kilometres from the Court of Aulë, is his favourite place.
The silent there is different, it seems alive.
A brilliant mind, like his, tries to analyse in the clearest way what happened some earlier hours .
‘It’s the punishment for I’ve sin. That’s what happens to extreme and foolish pride or dangerous over-confidence. That’s what I’ve done. I thought I could be like a Vala’, thinks Mairon as he’s sitting on a fallen tree.
‘I should be grateful for I’ve seen and, now, I know. I can balance the elements, I can correct my sinful hubris’, he explains to himself.
Not so convinced.
“As I see, I’m not the only one who searches for recovery in this wood, while the two lights of the Lamps are blending together and our blessed Isle is quiet and calm”, speaks the deep voice behind him.
Mairon gasps and turns to face the presence.
No, please, not Him. Not now.
He doesn’t reply. He closes his eyes trying to focus on his breath. He wants to keep his mind clear.
“This wood recalls Me the Void”, emphasises Melkor.
“How should this wood remind the Void? It’s a contradiction in terms”, replies sharp Mairon.
“It might be that you’ve never seen the Void. You just trusted in what other say about it. But I don’t see the Void as the other do. I’ve dwelled in it and it’s a cradle of creative energy. Most of my inspiration comes from it”, says Melkor as He walks towards Mairon, “the Void allows the free and unbounded creation, the real freedom that we have”.
“Doubts. That’s what You’re doing…adding drop by drop doubts in my mind. But I don’t understand why”, says Mairon with heavy tone in his husky voice.
“Is not the doubt a positive thing? Is not the doubt that shake our sleeping mind? Is not the doubt the pulsing and true moment of our existence?”, Melkor says urging him.
“Is not the doubt that reveals us if we are creating something or just imagining it? Is not the doubt that allows you to discern terror from reality and visions from facts?”, he adds while he’s sitting next to him.
Mairon feels confused. His emotions are overcoming him. And His presence, towering and utter, doesn’t help; even if He speaks truth.
Mairon feels they’re connected, in such way.
‘He will understand. He’s the only one that can’, says a little, sweet voice in the back of Mairon ‘s mind.
‘Similar souls’, the voice suggests again.
And with this enchanting and fulfilling idea Mairon speaks:
“I don’t know what I’ve seen”, he says as he hides his face in hands, “I don’t know…what’s happening to me”.
Melkor listens silently.
“I’ve…dreamt”, says Mairon, “Terror…my soul was ripped from my body and it was unnatural. Outside the rules of this world and, at the same time, it was this word with its rules. But…I prevailed over the world and I…triumphed over it”.
“There was…pain and despair. But also joy: as a wake in honour of myself while I got a deeper comprehension of the Being. And”, the Maia stops for a while, “as the final clause of a never-ending covenant, I embraced that vision, in a future of a gone past”, adds Mairon with a scared face, crying with no shame freely; “What…what I’ve dreamt?”, his words like a plea.
“What a vivid and extraordinary description! My opinion about you was not wrong, not at all. I truly see how brilliant and speculative your mind is”, says the Seducer, stroking lightly Mairon’s white-heat hair.
Mairon’s mouth and forehead show his suspicion but his watering eyes are in bliss by the Vala’s words.
“I’ve not wasted My gift with you”, whispers Melkor leaning over Mairon lightly.
Mairon would like to speak, to contest, to reject Melkor’s words but the Vala urges him, giving him no time to him to reply:
“That was not a dream, Mairon. It was a vision, as you admitted. You’ve seen Death”, says Melkor.
“That’s not possible!”, says Mairon standing up from the tree, drying the tears off, “I would not allow Death to come into being through my actions! That’s decision belongs to The One and Him only ”.
“I brought Death into the World”, says the Vala standing up in turn and grabbing Mairon by his arms, “and I’m Its Master! Master of Death and Master of the Destinies of Arda!”, as His eyes shines with a cold and sinister light.
“Why should we fear what we can control?”, now his voice is sweet like honey and soft like silk while He’s watching Mairon deeply in his eyes, pressing His body against Mairon’s.
“We?”, says Mairon, “What you mean with ‘we’?”.
His grab is like the pitiless icy wind that lashes the northern lands of Arda.
“You fear the things you don’t understand but the fear gives you nothing, Mairon; neither it helps knowledge”, He whispers in Mairon’s ear, “and it’s not your nature to be feared of something. Instead, all the being should fear you”, smiling lightly and sweetly.
Mairon’s pupils dilate. His heart is hammering in his chest. The Vala’s breath is as cold as His grab. But His body is hot and strong, as he can feel it under his tunic. And he feels comfortable and uncomfortable – at the same time – at that contact.
Moreover he has no reply and he is scared.
“Leave me alone…stop following me…get off me”, Mairon says releasing himself from Melkor’s possessive grab.
Then, Mairon leaves the wood with quick steps and without turning his head, leaving the Vala alone in the middle of the forest.
Walking as fast as he can, his hands are shivering lightly, the mind is dizzy and empty of reasonable thoughts.
During his confused run, it seems, for a split second, that his shadow abandons his body to turn around and go back to the clearing, where he got the conversation with the Vala.
But, no, that is impossible.
It’s only a feeling of a troubled mind.
As Mairon reaches the Court of Aulë, he makes himself do smile.
‘Just pretend to be happy and no one will ask you anything’, he repeats to himself as he enters his chamber.
Sitting on his bed, he tries to calm down.
Where is the truth?
The words tell him to not trust the Vala.
‘Yet, He’s a Vala’, says the sweet, deep voice from the back of his mind.
‘You’ve already seen, with your eyes, what He’s offering to you’.
“What He’s offering to me, exactly?”, asks Mairon himself.
‘Another way’, replies his mind, ‘you already know what the other Valar can offer you. He’s giving to you a different possibility’.
‘He walks different paths’
“A bit like me”, comments out loud Mairon, smiling softly.
‘Is this a crime? Or just an expression of His being?’.
“How can be a crime to search for knowledge?”, Mairon mouths off, feeling a hot touch around his arms, in the same place where the Vala grabbed him with his hands.
‘He is the Path’.
Mairon closes his eyes, lying in the bed, trying to remember His smell.
Melkor smells of fresh resin and frozen mornings.
**** The fifth error: to accept Him as Mentor
The day after everything seems perfectly clear to him.
Most of the day spent in absolute solitude brought him a new rational point of view.
That insanity has to stop. Too scaring things are linked together: betrayal, Death, power, dominion. Not least rebellion against the World’s rules.
Melkor is a Vala.
He is not. He’s a Maia: a noble spirit. But only a spirit. He has to act accordingly with his nature.
He has no idea how to summon a Vala, neither he knows if he’s allowed to do something like that.
He will try.
He heads his steps towards the spruce forest, where they met the previous day.
The smell of that wood after a light restorative rain is wonderful. Musks, drops and a light humidity. Those aromas flood his lungs in the sweetest way. That’s a benediction.
“Melkor?”, he calls, a bit afraid but not less steadfast.
“Can You hear me?”, he adds.
And Melkor appears.
“What do you require from Me, Mairon?”, replies His deep alluring voice.
Mairon hesitates for a while. But, at the end, he has nothing to fear. Because he fears nothing.
“You… you are a slave of yourself!”, starts off Mairon, “you serve nothing different from yourself, nothing bigger than you because you have no respect for anybody or anything”.
“You think you can do what you want because your status of being a Vala permits it to you. But it’s not like so. Your life is empty and you searches for slaves to fill it up”, continues Mairon with wrath and anger in his eyes.
“But, regarding me, I will not be a slave for you”, says Mairon.
“What does mean ‘to serve’, Mairon?”, replies Melkor with a terribly angry voice, stepping forward to face Mairon openly.
“To me, it means ‘to consider something as holy’”, replies Mairon with his bold and fearless voice, keeping his position.
“Well, rightfully I consider freedom sacred and inviolable. ‘To serve’, to Me, means ‘To keep safe’ and ‘to preserve’”. Then, Melkor pauses for a while, changing his voice tone; eventually, He continues:
“In the forge you said there are no battle in our blessed World. You were too subjugate and tame to understand. But, now, after showing you the truth, you are ready to know”, says the Seducer, walking around Mairon.
“There’s a battle I’m fighting since I sang before the One. I battle also for your freedom. The freedom of Being exactly like you are”, He says as He stops few steps before Mairon.
Then, His voice grows like hundred storms, His eyes shines like black fire: “And you insults Me calling Me lord of slaves!”. He’s towering terrible and gigantic like never before.
Mairon takes Him on, with no fear and with a determinate glaze.
Melkor pauses, closing His eyes, breathing out loudly. His beautiful and calm appearance takes possession of Him again.
“In truth, the spirits who serve Me…they decided it free. They revere and respect Me for I am who I am: I release from fear, I offer knowledge with no boundaries and I grant a full life”, says the Great Liar with a sweet and deep voice.
“It’s so easy to keep lower and weaker spirits under control, as the other Valar do in their blessed Isle”, adds Melkor with disgust as He walks again around Mairon.
“I offer a way, a harder way, but the only one that ensures that we achieve our will and not the one of others”, says Melkor, stopping behind Mairon’s back.
“Indeed, you say the truth. I’m a Vala, begotten by Eru Himself”, placing His hot hands over Mairon’s shoulder, “and if the One has His reason, so have I”.
Mairon gasps, but he speaks no words.
“May the One take away what He gave?”, whispers Melkor with His tempting voice in Mairon’s ear.
“No, He can’t. For this would mean that the One has failed. And if the One fails, He’s not the One”, placing His right hand around Mairon’s nape, pressing lightly his fingers against his pale skin.
“I’m indispensable to the One, necessary and essential. And My decisions will belong to Him, also”.
“As His best Child, I continue His work and I make it perfect”, says Melkor, resting His chin on Mairon’s left shoulder.
Feeling a warmth that embraces the whole of his being, Mairon’s heart starts hammering in his chest.
In the soft light of the forest, he desires only to close his eyes and let his mind flow cherished by Melkor’s words. Forever.
Melkor perceives Mairon’s rapture and smiles pleased.
“I want to offer you the knowledge. I will hide you nothing of this World, if you ask for it”, Melkor pledges to Mairon.
“Before you respond to Me, I want to show you what I’ve done, so that you can decide over your destiny. It’s part and parcel of freedom of your choice. And, with Me, it will be always certain”, adds Melkor releasing Mairon from His sweet numbness.
“What you want me to see?”, asks Mairon with a feeble voice.
“What I’ve created”, explains Melkor, “Tomorrow, we will reach the North”.
**** The sixth error: to become infatuated with the Power
A strange and febrile prefiguration takes possession of Mairon. Craving for His voice, His words, His concept, His touch and His smell, he follows the instructions the Vala gave him.
“You are like a slave here, Mairon. You cannot leave the Isle without permission. But there’s only one hidden place in that Isle. Even Manwë is unaware of it. I’ve put a powerful song of power on in and, from there, we will leave the Isle unnoticed”, said to him the Vala, “go and reach that place during the fourth hour of Illuin. I will be there waiting for you”.
At first sight, no one would say that, under the deep flash of that land lies a stronghold.
The light of Illuin arrives at the Mountains of the East faintly because everything is immersed in smoke produced by molten rock and artificial combustion.
The entrance is made up by one above suspicion downward stairway made of flood basalt.
Mairon follows Melkor in silence. Every step resounds amplified: it’s virtually never possible to enter the fortress unnoticed. Also the breath seems to have own echo down there.
The first thing to catch Mairon’s breath is the structure. Dungeons and halls as far as the eye can see. It’s like a overthrown castle that cuts the bowels of the earth.
The second reason of amazement is the material.
Burning fire and swirls of ice used as supporting pillars for walls and floors; the whole structure is made of a stone unknown to Mairon.
The stone is shiny and mainly black but the cut reveals also other colours like blue, grey, white and even the deep red and green.
“I’ve called it obsidian. It seems alive, doesn’t it? It reflex the light of fire giving back pale shadows of shadiness”, comments Melkor as Mairon touches with inquiring hands the wall before him.
“How…?”, asks Mairon.
“The most extraordinary things happen only inside the contradiction; in this case when black lava and icy-cold winds meet”, explains Melkor.
Mairon smiles sweetly, his eyes lost somewhere between internal conflicts.
“Come, Mairon, this is nothing compared to what you’re going to see”, comments Melkor, showing him the main path to follow.
Over there, a brilliant and intense light prevails.
‘It has to be fire’, thinks Mairon.
And fire it is.
Living fire.
Burning fire.
Destroyer fire.
Mairon doesn’t breath for some seconds.
“I order you to bow before Me, for I am King of the World and Master of the Fates of Arda, oh Gothmog, Valkarauka!”, says Melkor.
The thing roars emitting deep guttural sounds, as avalanche caused by earthquake. Then, he bows and bends forward his head. The ground vibrates under its weight.
“And now, Valkarauka, pay homage to Tar-Mairon , your second master”, says Melkor with complacence paying more attention to Mairon’s face than to the Balrog’s bulk.
The Valarauka blows smoke from his mouth as he stands. He observes Mairon in silence, as to memorize his face. Then, he bows down before Mairon too.
Mairon’s eyes sparkles in the dark.
‘Tar-Mairon’, the sweet voice in his mind resounds, ‘His power, your power’.
“Flare up!”, orders Mairon.
The Valarauka, opening his huge wings, flares up and producing smoke and free flames as never seen before.
Mairon quivers lightly with excitement.
The red light of the tongue of fire lights his smile up. The wicked smirk of Mairon seduces the Vala’s mind.
As the blazes abates and the shadows of Utumno fall again on his face, Melkor sees clearly that even now the same powerful wildfire burns in Mairon’s eyes, now and forever.
Then, Melkor grabs Mairon’s nape with his right hand, pressing lightly his fingers against his skin.
Mairon feels the touch, hot and electric. And the Vala speaks:
“I planning a stronghold and armoury in the extreme Northern part of Arda. I want you to rule in lieu of Me each time I dwell in Utumno”.
“Why You offer all this power to me?”, asks Mairon.
“For I’m the Lord of the Gifts and loyalty will always be rewarded”, says the Vala with His seductive and low voice, “Now it’s time for you to ponder what you’ve seen and understood. Tomorrow I’ll have your answer. You are free with Me, always you will be”.
***
That night Mairon can’t rest.
He just sits on window sill end in his chamber and watches the beauty of the world outside, immersed in the soft light of the Lamps.
The excitement, anticipation and desire are the same for him that day.
‘Have I to give up to the light, living in an eternal darkness, in the abyss of the earth?’, he thinks as he watches the beaming colours of the world outside his window.
A smile appears on his lips: ‘I will decide the colours and the shape of Arda and my will and intent will be the only limit’.
****The seventh error: to accept His Love
It’s Melkor who reach his room, early in the morning, the day after.
Mairon gasps in surprise as He appears as a misty cloud in the corner of his chamber.
“Really You are the Lord of the Gift for You promise me Your infinite power”, Mairon speaks immediately.
Melkor lifts the corner of his lips up, in a devilish smile.
“Together with Me, you will be powerful, Mairon”, says the Vala.
“Why are You offering it to me?”, asks Mairon for the second time, for self-fulfilment more than other reasons.
“You said in truth I’m the Lord of the Gift and I value the loyalty; I give back more than I receive”, says the Seducer approaching Mairon and walking around him.
“Your mind is brilliant, your will is strong, you have the worthiest capacities and, as I have seen, a remarkable creativity. Your greatness worth more than their false promises and serfdom. Moreover”, stops Melkor, placing his hands, now hot, on his shoulders.
“As a creator, who I am, I love what I can improve”, the Vala whispers in Mairon’s ears, “Who loves you so much to grant you all the power, Mairon?”.
Then, the Vala pauses for a while before starting again:
“Neither Eru, for no one will love you like I do”.
Mairon turns his face to take on Him but Melkor moves his hand to reach his scalp, caressing lightly his white long hair.
“I’ve not wasted my gift with you, Tar-Mairon, my love”, the Vala whispers.
“Nothing is prohibited for you, not anymore, because, now, you have my love”, whispers the Vala.
“Bow before Me, Mairon, on your knees, and deny Eru for I am the God made flash in this world”.
His voice is as sweet as the fresh nectar, hot as the wind from south, deep as the abyss of Utumno.
Mairon eyes are half-closed, as he is immersed in a permanent daydreaming.
“Join Me, Mairon. Knee now!”, the Valar speaks again.
Mairon turns his body and, grabbing the Vala’s arms, slips down on his knees.
Melkor intertwines His arms with Mairon’s, as to sustain him.
“I deny Eru. You are the Master I deserve. Now and forever. You are the One to me”.
Melkor smiles and with His right hand reaches the Maia’s chin, lifting his face to watch him in his dark and shiny eyes.
“The change I bring into this world through you is the greatest act of rebellion in Arda. My is the choice and it was, it is and it will be inevitable and inescapable. As long as you call Me Master and knee before Me, you will have a part of My power, infinite and merciless over Arda; you will weave the Destinies of this World with Me”
“Decide Me and I will put you out as a feeble flame, as you are without Me. Worship Me, serve Me and you will have honour in return”.
“I’m not powerful as you are, my Lord. You are the improvement, the change, and I will take my part in your music, as you ask for it. Our music will be different, even if I cannot understand it completely for you are a God”, says Mairon as he stands up and watches the Vala in His eyes.
Then, the Maia speaks again, now smiling with a wicked smile:
“Nevertheless, I will be complementary to you and you are in needing of me”, Mairon continues,” I fulfil your will with the gifts you’ll give me; and I will set them aside to serve myself, also”, he whispers while his eyes are wide-open and burning with the same greedy flames of the previous day.