Were he a lesser man, or a man at all, he might have sobbed in relief. Or punched Melkor again.
Mairon is too exhausted to do either. Exhausted in a way he has never been before, as if a war has just ended, as if Melkor has finally returned from one of his long forays to the East Men, as if he'd just been released from Namo's halls. He falls easily into Melkor's grip, though unwilling and unable to loosen his own. The touch of spirit he welcomes wholly, even if he is sluggish in responding to it.
"I was afraid," he says into the hollow of Melkor's throat, not the first among the number of things he has never admitted to anyone else. "They cut off your feet and dragged you away in chains, and I did not want to suffer the same fate, for it was not my fate to suffer. But they said I must return to Valinor and beg forgiveness of the Valar, receive Manwe's judgment and a sentence of servitude-- how could I?"
It's almost laughable to think of it now, and he does laugh, the way one laughs when they do not wish to be frightened.
"I hated them as much as I loved them, our brethren and our enemy. How could I kneel and beg leave of them? But if I continued to do as I had always done in your service, they would not have allowed me to walk free." He pauses, presses a kiss in return, in case he would not be able to again, bringing his hand up at last to touch at Melkor's neck. "..All I ever wanted was to see the world ordered. By Fate, or by another's hands. Perhaps that is how the Father made me to be."
To deny all that was wasteful and unneeded and needless, and accept only what was most efficient. Loyalties to an absent Vala were needless at the time, it seemed.
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Mairon is too exhausted to do either. Exhausted in a way he has never been before, as if a war has just ended, as if Melkor has finally returned from one of his long forays to the East Men, as if he'd just been released from Namo's halls. He falls easily into Melkor's grip, though unwilling and unable to loosen his own. The touch of spirit he welcomes wholly, even if he is sluggish in responding to it.
"I was afraid," he says into the hollow of Melkor's throat, not the first among the number of things he has never admitted to anyone else. "They cut off your feet and dragged you away in chains, and I did not want to suffer the same fate, for it was not my fate to suffer. But they said I must return to Valinor and beg forgiveness of the Valar, receive Manwe's judgment and a sentence of servitude-- how could I?"
It's almost laughable to think of it now, and he does laugh, the way one laughs when they do not wish to be frightened.
"I hated them as much as I loved them, our brethren and our enemy. How could I kneel and beg leave of them? But if I continued to do as I had always done in your service, they would not have allowed me to walk free." He pauses, presses a kiss in return, in case he would not be able to again, bringing his hand up at last to touch at Melkor's neck. "..All I ever wanted was to see the world ordered. By Fate, or by another's hands. Perhaps that is how the Father made me to be."
To deny all that was wasteful and unneeded and needless, and accept only what was most efficient. Loyalties to an absent Vala were needless at the time, it seemed.