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Chapter Text

Of all the possible punishments he could have faced, Mairon was incredibly happy with the situation he landed in.

He was not tossed into the Void after Melkor, not stripped of his power and left to wander the Arda a barely-sentient wisp of fëa, instead he was now imprisoned in the Shire with a fake backstory so he did not scare the hobbits around him -or so Gandalf had claimed- (nor attract any of his former servants to him, had gone unsaid).

As far as the halflings of this land were concerned, he was an elf from Rivendell that had encountered Bilbo Baggins when he had been on his adventure while on his own trip to the Grey Havens to go to the Undying Lands but had refused the call to pursue the hobbit that had gotten his attention.

Speaking of that said hobbit, Bilbo Baggins was his jailer for all intents and purposes as he wielded the One Ring; what was once the source of his greatest power had been altered to become the chain keeping him here -Aulё himself had been the one to unmake the ring, telling him that it was the only alternative Manwё would grant him as opposed to being thrust into the Void to await the end of days.

Half of what was once the One Ring rested on a half-missing finger -though the ring looked whole- with a gold-leaf-like coating tracing a line from it to the veins of his wrist before tapering off, with Bilbo having an identical ring with his half that neither of them could remove.

It had been four years since his defeat at the hands of the White Council at Dul Guldor, four years since he had been dragged to Valinor to be tried for all his crimes, four years since he had been punished and married off to the hobbit he was now bound to.

They had not been married in the way of the Ainur, an irreversible process that would have bound their souls eternally, but rather in the way of the halflings he now lived amongst with a simple ceremony where plain necklaces were exchanged.

Though, thinking of the subject of his marriage, Mairon realized that he had an issue; it was a silly thing, one so embarrassing that he imagined he would be laughed out of a room if he ever told anyone about it.

He was falling in love with his husband.

It was so stupid to him, to think those exact words -the humor of the irony was not lost on him- but Mairon also knew that their marriage was simply a platonic matter between him and Bilbo forced upon them by higher powers and they had come to an understanding over it.

They did not share a bedroom (Bilbo lived in the master bedroom and Mairon occupied a guestroom), they did not share meals together -not that Mairon ate very much when they did-, and they did not have anything in common besides a love of reading.

Despite being married for nearly half a decade, they had never kissed -besides the peck on the cheek Bilbo had reluctantly given him during their wedding that he had reciprocated with the same-, they had never hugged, they had definitely never consummated their marriage; no the most intimate thing they had ever done was hold hands or when Bilbo held his arm when they went on walks together.

Yet, Mairon was still finding himself falling in love with this hobbit of his.

Bilbo was perfect: he was intelligent and well-read, but yet still humble and kind; he was simple and easily happy, but not plain or uninteresting; and those were just the tip of the iceberg on all the things that made Bilbo so amazing to him.

Putting those thoughts away for now, Mairon stood up from where he had been kneeling while pulling weeds in Bilbo’s garden, wiping his dirtied hands on the forest green cotton apron he wore over his pale grey dress.

That was one thing about the Shire he was not sure he was ever going to get used to: the clothing.

When he had first begun to live here, he had tried the masculine clothing options of the hobbits but found the waistcoats and vests and just-past-knee-length pants strange and uncomfortable, so he had opted for the feminine clothing option instead and found the dresses, aprons, and corsets much more in-line with the robes he was accustomed to.

Either way, he was still stuck going barefoot, which had disgusted him at first but he was used to it now.

***

Heading back inside the smial, Mairon laid the basket of weeds by the fireplace to dry out later for kindling and wandered down the hallway.

Peeking around the corner, he saw Bilbo in the study working at his small desk, hand resting under his chin and the tip of a quill between his teeth as he worked on his novel.

“Something on the tip of your tongue?” The maia inquired, slowly walking into the room

Bilbo turned to look at him as he approached the desk, watching as the taller being settled on the floor beside him, “Just thinking of synonyms for ‘said’.”

“‘Speak’, ‘utter’, ‘voice’, ‘pronounce’, ‘vocalize’, ‘declare’, ‘state’, ‘announce’, ‘remark’, ‘observe’, ‘mention’, ‘comment’.” Mairon supplied, “Though, this is but the first draft of your memoir, it does not need to be polished it merely needs to exist.”

“You are right -and do not say you typically are- but it still feels like shoddy writing to just use ‘said’ over and over even for a first draft.” The hobbit lamented

The strawberry blond hummed, “You could read it aloud to me as you write and I could offer you synonyms whenever a word is overused.”

“That…that is actually a good idea.” Bilbo replied, “I will start at the beginning of this page then.”

***

They spent hours like this, Bilbo writing about his adventure while Mairon occasionally piped in with better word choices.

They stopped when they reached the point where the company dealt with the mountain trolls and found the treasures in their little cavern beneath -fairly early in the story but still progress.

“So that is how you found ‘Sting’ then?” Mairon commented, “I had wondered how you got a Gondolin-made blade. You could not ask for a finer weapon -save for one made by my hand.”

“Do you miss it?” Bilbo asked, “Forging, that is.”

“Yes.” The taller being admitted, “It is a part of my being.”

The hobbit frowned, “There are no smithies in the Shire, nearly all metal work is bought from dwarf merchants from the Blue Mountains or passed down the family.”

“It is a hard doom.” Mairon sighed, “But I have already accepted it.”

That was another part of his punishment, not only was he stuck in a range of a thousand feet of Bilbo, but he could not leave the Shire regardless.

Bilbo stood from his chair, “I cannot take you forging, but we can go foraging -if you would like- the day is still young.”

“That would be amenable.” Mairon agreed, standing up as well

Chapter Text

The forests around Hobbiton were not at all like the woods littering the rest of Middle Earth, there were no predators to be found -besides the occasional boar or sleepy bear-, the trees were not densely packed and blocking the sun, and abundance grew everywhere with very few poisonous plants (the only one of note was foxglove, which was easily mistaken for comfrey -a mistake which had killed Bilbo’s maternal aunt, Hildigard, as a child).

Mairon and Bilbo had been walking in a pleasant silence for a while, their pace only broken when the hobbit spotted edible berries or mushrooms.

“Are there forests in Mordor?” Bilbo inquired suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen, “Whenever I hear of it, the land was always described as a desert.”

That shocked the maia, his husband had never asked about his former kingdom before, so he was momentarily taken aback before answering, “Yes, on the easternmost border where there are no mountains, the Lithlad Forests -you will not find it on any maps. Only the western part of Mordor is a desert, it is because of the proximity to Mount Doom, but the eastern part -Núrn, the region is called- is grasslands; there is even a inland saltwater sea with black sand.”

“Do you miss living in Mordor?” The hobbit asked, “It was your home.”

“I only lived there for half an age, and even then it has been three thousand years since then -since I lost the ring.” Mairon shrugged, “It was not my home; I have never had a home, just places I have lived. I have never belonged anywhere.”

Bilbo gulped, not sure what to say, “Well you have Bag End now and, uh, me.”

“If I had to be caged with anyone, I am glad it is you.” Mairon said, giving a soft smile

Bilbo laughed a bit, “I am sorry, I do not mean to laugh, it is just that the way you phrased it reminded me of a story my father told me.”

Fourteen year old Bilbo looked up at his father who was making dinner, asking, “Why did you make a new smial to live in with mama instead of living in the Baggins smial?

“My cousins all called me mad for marrying Belladonna Took, that she was like a little bird flittering about, how could I ever hope to tame her? That no smial I ever built would cage her.” Bungo answered, his greying brown hair practically glowing in the light of the cooking fire, “But they did not understand, why would I want to cage someone so wild and vibrant and one-of-a-kind? No, I did not want to build her a cage, but a nest to come home to for when she needed a rest from seeing the skies.”

“Your parents sound lovely.” Mairon commented

Bilbo smiled, “Oh yes, they were deeply in love. As a child I always compared them to Beren and Lúthien, fighting against societal pressures to not marry but doing it anyways.”

“The song sung of them is not entirely accurate.” The maia hummed, “They called me ‘Tevildo’ in that tale and thought I was a cat.”

“You are Tevildo!” Bilbo exclaimed, nearly dropping his basket, “I had a kitten named after you!”

“What?” Mairon asked, laughing at his reaction

“One winter, when I was ten I think, I found a stray kitten, a black little thing that was half-feral. He would only let me feed him and would hiss at anyone else who got close but always let me pet him or carry him about or even dress him up on a few occasions. So I called him Tevildo.” The blond explained, “I constantly tried to bring him inside to be a pet but he always ran away, so I would pretend he was off doing Melko’s bidding. He lived five years, fighting anything that looked at him, until he had a bad encounter with one of Farmer Maggot’s guard dogs. My mother tried to comfort me and said that Tevildo was probably off on another ‘adventure’ but I heard the town gossip about how the dog ripped out his throat.”

Mairon frowned, lowering the high collar of his dress to reveal a large scar, “It seems he shared the fate of his namesake; Huan ripped out my throat. That was only slightly more embarrassing than when my niece beat me up moments prior.”

“Your niece?” Bilbo asked

“Lúthien.” The taller being answered, “Her mother, Melian, is my sister.”

Bilbo just blinked, repeating, “Your sister?”

“Yes, her and Arien -who carries the sun- and I are triplets.” Mairon confirmed, “I am the eldest, then Melian, and Arien is the youngest.”

“We have been married for four years and you only drop this information now?” Bilbo gasped, “That you have sisters ! That you are not only the main antagonist of my favorite bedtime story but also the uncle of the heroine of said story!”

Mairon laughed again, nodding a bit, “You must remember that I am twenty thousand years old, Bilbo, I have worked for a Dark Lord, been a Dark Lord, and done a hundred million other things; I could not share all my tales even if I had a century with nothing else to do. And my encounter with Lúthien was just one awful afternoon in that span of time.”

“What am I doing writing a novel when I have you right here?!” Bilbo uttered

The strawberry blond just smiled, “Well I like your novel, it is letting me know what you were up to prior to our nuptials.”

They continued to walk silently for a few moments before Mairon spoke again, “How about we make a deal? In the mornings while we go to the farmers market or out on a walk I will share one of my tales and in the afternoon we continue working on your memoir and when you finish that any other book you want to write. That way we can get to know each other better, then we can be friends instead of the acquaintances we have been.”

“You have got yourself a deal.” Bilbo hummed, taking his hand

***

That night, after dinner had been made, eaten and cleaned up, Mairon lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling.

Why in the Halls had he called them ‘acquaintances’ how was he supposed to get Bilbo to fall in love with him if he said that they were little above strangers?!

Oh he had seduced Celebrimbor and Pharazôn so easily, but he had done it by manipulating them to manipulate them into doing what he wished; how was he supposed to get Bilbo’s love without manipulating him?

If he manipulated Bilbo’s feeling, then he could have him by the end of the week but he did not want that, he wanted something real…something like what he had once had with Melkor, before the Silmarils poisoned the vala’s mind and turned him into a shell of his once mighty self.

No, no thinking of his romance with Melkor, the maia mentally scolded himself; that relationship had been doomed the moment Melkor chose the anger over the loss of one Silmaril over caring that his lover had nearly been murdered -that one of his maiar had been murdered, Mairon’s best and only friend, Thuringwethil.

Of course, that had not stopped him from staying in that toxic relationship for another fifty years until Melkor was taken away and tossed into the Void, from trying desperately to mend the rift that had formed between them; because if Melkor did not want him, who would?

No, Mairon stopped the thought again, his love was Bilbo’s now and hopefully the hobbit would want it.

Chapter Text

“Bilbo, Bilbo.” Thorin wheezed, coughing

“Don’t move, don’t move.” Bilbo said, dropping to his knees to see how badly the dwarf was hurt, “Lie still.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” The dying dwarf said, “I wish to part from you in friendship.”

“No, you are not going anywhere, Thorin, you are going to live.” Bilbo soothed, trying to convince himself more than anything

“I would take back my words and my deeds at the gate, you did what only a true friend would do.” Thorin continued, “Forgive me, I was too blind to see it. I am so sorry that I have led you into such peril.”

“No, I am glad to have shared in your perils, Thorin, each and every one of them. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.”

Thorin weakly smiled, meeting the hobbit’s eyes, “Farewell, Master Burglar, go back to your books and your armchair; plant your trees, watch them grow. If more people valued home above gold, this world would be a merrier place.”

“No! No no no no! Thorin, don’t you dare!”

Thorin just leaned his head back and exhaled his final breath, his eyes empty as they stared up into the sky.

“Thorin, Thorin, hold on.” Bilbo begged softly, denial having set in, “The eagles, the eagles are here! Thorin!”

Then Bilbo turned away, and he went by himself and he wept until his eyes were red and his voice was hoarse .

Bilbo set down his quill as he finished reading his words aloud, his pale green eyes misting as he relived Thorin’s death all over again.

Mairon saw his expression and tried to help by offering the next line to the tale over his own assessment of the hobbit, “ ‘He was a kindly little soul. Indeed it was long before he had the heart to make a joke again.’ ”

“Thank you for your help, Mairon, I…I am going to turn in for the night.” Bilbo said, standing up, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bilbo.” The maia replied, watching as Bilbo retreated to his room

Once he was gone, Mairon stood up as well and glanced down at the manuscript as he realized how deeply Bilbo had loved Thorin.

How could he ever hope to have his heart when he was still competing with a ghost?

There was only one person he could ask for advice, as much as he hated the idea, and they were conveniently in Middle Earth for him to ask.

***

Gandalf Greyhame, the Grey Wizard, who was also known as Olórin of Nienna -the Vala of Grief and Compassion-, had just returned to the Shire for the first time in about a year.

Officially, he was here to check up on Bilbo and see how Mairon was doing behaviorally; unofficially, he was here because his pipeweed storage was running low and he had made fireworks to sell.

But before he could go down to the farmer’s market to set up his fireworks stall, he stopped by Bag End to get his official task over with.

He had barely knocked on the front door before the circular green door opened to reveal the only other maia in the Shire.

Mairon’s golden eyes met his own grey-blue ones, “I need to speak to you privately.”

They went down to the wooden bench by the smial’s mailbox, Gandalf immediately lighting his pipe as the strawberry blond spoke to him.

“ I fear…I love someone. ” Mairon admitted in Valarin, so no one else could hear his secret

Olórin choked on the smoke he had been inhaling before he looked like a statue for several moments after: both unmoving and unblinking -perhaps he is not even breathing. 

The wizard then looked concerned, matching his choice of language, “ You fear such a thing? Your husband is not one to raise a fist against you even with an affair. Bilbo Baggins is not the type, at least, he is a gentle soul. Do you have a paramour, then? I imagine they are a hobbit, given the circumstances. ”

The strawberry blond maia shook his head, “ No, no, there is no paramour. I have no one apart from my husband. ” 

And suddenly, the other maia laughed, a hand landing on his own chest as he seemed to attempt to control himself. 

Mairon just blinked at him, his shock at this horrible reaction evident as he regretted admitting his plight to anyone at all. 

Gandalf opened his eyes and his laughter ceased, “ I apologize for my reaction, Mairon, but you must understand. You seemed truly out of sorts -fearful, even-  over this love, I had nothing else to do but assume it was either an affair and you feared for Bilbo’s wrath. But to hear it is your husband you love? What is there to fear in that? ”

“ I have everything to fear, Olórin! ” Mairon hissed, “ All of my previous relationships have ended in disaster! And if I confess myself to Bilbo and he does not feel the same then I have spoiled the tentative friendship we have and the only good part of my fragile prison is ruined! ”

The fire maia then stood up, “ Clearly I was wrong to assume you could help me. ”

“ Mairon, sit back down, I shall help you. It was merely surprising to me to hear that you love your husband, but if your feeling are true then I can help. ” Gandalf soothed

The taller being obeyed and sat back down as Gandalf relit his pipe, “ You are torturing yourself for no reason, Mairon, the only way out of your situation is to be honest with Bilbo. Even if he does not feel the same, Bilbo is not the type to scorn you for your affections, your friendship would last such a thing. Yes, things may be awkward for a while, but for Bilbo friendships are not so lightly tossed aside. ”

“ How do I admit myself when he is still in love with Thorin Oakenshield?! ” Mairon questioned

The wizard puffed some smoke, making the shape of two people dancing, “ Grief is like that, a part of him shall always be in love with Thorin just as a piece of you will always belong to your previous lovers. Trust me, just admit yourself to Bilbo and you will be able to rest easier. ”

Once he was done smoking, Gandalf shook the ash from his pipe and put it back on its hiding place on his staff, “ Now, I am going to have a chat with Bilbo to conclude my obligations here; do not worry I shan’t share anything you have told me, that is something you must do alone. Then, I have fireworks to sell. Good day, Mairon, and good luck. ”

The Grey Wizard then stood up and went back to the front door, knocking on it again to which Bilbo answered.

“Oh, Gandalf, it is wonderful to see you!” Bilbo greeted, “Do come in, I have just finished making lunch. Have you seen Mairon, he is not inside?”

To that, the other maia grabbed the few envelopes in the mailbox and made his way back up towards the door, “I am here.”

The three of them then went inside and had lunch together, the Istari questioning Bilbo on how things had been since his last visit.