#don't ask me about geography or timelines i need to reread silm APPARENTLY since this is A Thing

[brynnmclean]

fell in love with the fire long ago - aka, I’m having a Mairon-shaped meltdown, clearly [all other posts under this tag]

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Melkor, after he is released from the Halls and Manwë allows him to go where he will in Aman, visits the Forge. Mairon—he does not run away so much as he just… immediately removes himself from the area.

It's for the best. All his projects would have gone awry if he had stayed. He cannot stop his hands from shaking.

Melkor had smiled at him and longing had twisted in his gut, strong enough to make him want to retch.

He had been making jewelry for the Arafinwëan boy, Findaráto. Ever since he had learned that Mairon was a jewelsmith as well as bladesmith, Findaráto had commissioned him specifically for work. The latest was a tiara of some sort for his sister, Artanis.

Mairon has not met Artanis yet, but of course the rumor of her had reached him—the story of her refusing Fëanáro a strand of her hair for a project had circulated amongst all of the smiths. Fin had confirmed the truth of it to Mairon himself, quietly grinning while Mairon made careful detail work on a brooch.

"You'd like her," Fin said, flipping through some architectural design sketches of his own. "She has a spirit that would match any fire you've seen."

The boast made Mairon laugh—but Noldorin pride is always a sight to behold. He enjoys witnessing their fierceness, their ambition, their creativity. The Valinorian born Eldar in particular have a light in them that fascinates Mairon. They have been born into a world untouched by Shadow. There has been no darkness in their lives for them to know fear.

Mairon hears Melkor's laughter echoing in his ears and knows the chill of it down his spine all too well. He has not spoken out against the Valar's decision to release the Enemy and to trust in his repentance, but…

Mairon finds his feet moving down the road to the Sea. Ossë is not at the shore—Mairon vaguely remembers now some word of him stirring up a hurricane in Beleriand—but the sound of the waves strikes Mairon true and his hands are still shaking, burning really, so he shifts from his usual form to something else—he does not let his thoughts rest too long, only wanting an animal's lack of complicated thought as he dives into the waves. He glides, serpentine, through the surf until he tires of it and beaches himself on a sandbar.

He breathes in cool air and tastes salt on his tongue. His teeth remain razor sharp and they ache.

Quietly, he realizes that he is angry. It glows like an ember in his stomach, stubbornly clinging to heat despite water to quench it.

He hears laughter from the shore, but it comes from light, elvish voices instead of the one he dreads. Someone calls out to him as he shifts and rises back up into his usual form.

The swim back from the sandbar is slower than before, but Findaráto has saved his boots from seawater and Mairon finds his rage replaced by gratitude. He is very glad to not be alone.

"Mairon," Findaráto says, clasping Mairon's arm, all cheer and friendliness. When he steps back, he gestures toward his companion. "Meet my sister, Artanis. She came to take me back to Alqualondë, but I thought I'd introduce you first."

Mairon—stares. The elleth at Fin's side is, frankly, the most beautiful he has ever seen. His eyes roam over her face, her hair—the rumors are true about her hair, silver and gold mingling in perfect harmony, like the dawn of the Trees caught—heat rises in him again when he realizes that he's been silent a beat too long. A flush sears across his cheeks and he hopes neither elf notices.

He forgets the proper gesture to make to her so he holds out his arm the way Fin had to him. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Artanis." His voice comes out smoother than he expected—and better yet, after a brief flash of surprise, Artanis looks pleased as she clasps his arm, returning his gesture of camaraderie. "Your brother has told me much about you."

Artanis slides a wry look at Findaráto. "Clearly he forgot to mention my coming and to extend an invitation to you. Our mother has been wondering who Fin's talented jeweler friend is and—"

"—would like to at least have you over for dinner," Findaráto finishes, laughing. "Which will turn into you staying with us for at least a few days, if you are amenable and if we can tear you away from the Forge for longer than a minute."

Mairon looks at Artanis and thinks of golden leaves and nets of pearls—the project, the draft sketches in his office—but her eyes meet his. Blue as a cloudless sky. He takes a step back, telling himself it wasn't a stumble.

He thinks of refusing—the routine, the order, the work of the Forge, how necessary it is to him, how can he step away from it now—but he looks at Fin and his stunning sister and finds joy flashing in his heart like a sudden flame. "Let me pack a few things and I'll come with you."