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The sound of alarms blaring and endless bleeping was still echoing and ringing in his ears as he started to feel aware of his body, the discomfort being reflected on his frown and the scrunch of his face. His head felt stuffed full of cotton, overwhelmed by the presence of a distant noise echoing in his ears that steadily grew stronger and stronger, slowly becoming understandable as music… A constant symphony of thousands of voices harmonically singing that was constantly changing and evolving, never repeating the same note twice. Full scales that he didn’t even know existed, far more beautiful than any instrument any human could ever create. 

With the constant Music he was already too awake to slip back into the realm of dreams, so he tentatively let his eyes fall open, aware of the light hitting his face. To his surprise, his eyes adjusted immediately and felt no discomfort, the one thing he could absolutely assure he had never experienced before in his twenty seven years of life. Slowly he lifted his head from the pillow, his body feeling more and more alien as the seconds ticked by, and at the same time much more his own. As he looked around he found himself lying on a soft bed that in itself laid in the middle of a simple room with white walls. Was he in a hospital? Although, the lack of medical equipment seemed a bit strange… but he was definitely not home, and the room was too empty and devoid of personality to belong to anyone except maybe perhaps a showroom in those minimalist magazines his sister was disgustingly obsessed with. 

The hospital possibility felt wrong, his body did not feel heavy or exhausted. In fact, he could very damn well say he felt better than he ever had in his life before, and as he sat up he looked down at his hands and— those were not his hands. 

Why were his hands not his hands??

He turned them over, looking at the pale grey skin that darkened into sharp black talons, too many long boney fingers that had too many articulations and bones that made no sense in how they were placed.

What -and he could not emphasise this enough- the fuck. 

“You’re awake, thank Eru”

He snapped his head up, surprised to note someone stood at the door without him hearing them come in, but then again he was still amidst the shock of seeing his not-hands. And also the Music. The Music was very loud. Could someone please lower the volume?

The person at the door was a woman, or at least he thought they might be? Their long dark hair was carefully braided away from their face, and they were quite pretty he supposed, but they definitely did not look like a human being; the slim amber eyes set a smidge too far apart with horizontal pupils, the patterns on their skin he suspected were not makeup or tattoos, and the elongated pointed ears. They wore a robe, simple white and green fabric that brushed the ground, and they walked to sit at his side and touch his forehead. Their hands too looked strange— but their fingers were even longer than his, with no nails at all yet ending in pointed shape, almost like fine needles. He distantly wondered if they were sharp. 

He flinched back slightly from the touch, eyes widening. 

“Morgoth? Are you alright?”

What. 

Did they just call him—?

Oh. 

Oh no.

Nonononononononono—

Jumping out of the bed with little regard to the strange body he had found himself in he looked around frantically, finding a small bassinet in a corner, likely to wash one’s hands, and he ran to it, hunching over it to look at his reflection in the water. 

At him stared back eyes of void black, all six of them arranged in perfect symmetry on a slim face, a thin sharp nose, a mouth with no lips that looked more like a cut made across paper thin skin with a knife, beyond which he discovered there were jagged teeth that would be better placed in the mouth of any beast. It was just— horrible! The hair falling around that ugly face was black, completely devoid of colour or light, seeming like a piece of empty space, and at that point he stepped back to avoid looking on any longer. 

What the fuck was going on!? Why was he there!? 

Spiralling on for a moment, he tried pinching at his arm and failed miserably due to the fact he had absolutely no muscle or fat to pinch, and that he now sported wicked sharp talons that made the task difficult. He ended up driving the end of two of them into his skin and there was— actually there was no pain, but he also did not wake up from the nightmare he was surely having!

Not this! Not here! Not Morgoth! 

He was supposed to be back in his apartment, writing a scathing review for that absolute trash of a novel! Transmigration belonged only in fiction!

…

Oh. 

For a moment he decided to pause his panic and think about that… What had he been doing before he woke up there? Why did he want to leave a bad review…? Ah, the latest and final chapter of his favourite novel had been posted, and he had read it only to find that the ending…. It was terrible! He had hated it so much that he hadn’t been paying attention on his way to the train, slipped on the recent snowfall, and— 

Fuck, he died. 

He went and died and then the universe decided to fuck him over and send him into the novel he had just been reading. 

He had gotten fucking isekai’d for some unknown goddamned reason.

“Morgoth? Morgoth, can you hear me?”

The pair of eldritch hands grabbed at his shoulders and forced him to turn around. The stranger was shorter than him, by almost two heads. 

“This is not good,” they frowned, evidently worried, and they snapped their fingers— how the fuck were they able to do that with those appendages?

He almost jumped when a third person entered the room immediately after as if they had just been waiting outside. They looked normal, actually, or as normal as you could consider an elf to look like: androgynous, beautiful and dressed in strange robes. 

“Yes, My Lady?” They asked, bowing deeply. 

“Please inform Manwë that Morgoth has woken up, and I need him to come here urgently”

“Understood, Lady Estë,” they bowed again and promptly left. 

Estë… Estë was one of the Valar, right? She was The Healer. Well, at least now the strange shape of her hands made more sense, she likely preferred it for surgeries and um, other medical stuff? He didn’t know what healers did, actually, at least not in that wacky world. 

“Come, sit down”

She made him return to the bed and he let her drag him, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

The more time he spent awake, the more and more he started to feel like this truly was it now, there was no going back to his normal life, no going back to his home or his job or his wifi— no, this body was his now. He couldn’t even understand it well, but… it was the Music. He did not only hear it in the distance with something other than his ears, but he… felt it. The Music that composed Ëa, the one thing that gave meaning to everything. That Music was telling him that he was right where he was supposed to be, that this was His Place, His Home. 

…

He did not want to be there!!

This was the worst scenario ever! Why, universe, why!? Or, since he was stuck in this wack ass novel: WHY, ERU!?

He internally cried bitter tears as Estë proded at him, trying to find what was wrong. 

Morgoth… Morgoth was a rather powerful and important character of that novel, but— He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Well. He tried to, he soon discovered he didn’t actually have lungs, because of fucking course he didn’t. 

The world he now found himself in was based on a novel, one he had been an avid reader and fan (debatable) of for the past five years, spending hours upon hours of his time dedicated to it; Proud Immortal Ainur Way, an internet sensation and top bestseller. 

Proud Immortal Ainur Way (or PIAW for short) followed the story of Mairon, a fire spirit who had a love for craftsmanship. At the beginning the story had started with a twinge of innocence and hopefulness when he worked under Aulë’s tutelage, a Vala who had always treated him very well, but unfortunately his curiosity and yearning for knowledge saw him easily falling victim to the lies of Morgoth… Morgoth was, of course, a complete piece of shit and also the main villain of the novel. With his honeyed words and empty promises he had gathered quite a large following of eager Maiar to come with him to his realm of darkness in Middle Earth, being the only Vala that did not reside in Valinor, the paradise where they along with the First Children -the elves- inhabited. And while he seemed to be only a wacky or interesting sort of mentor at the start, it had soon become clear that he was a scumbag and just straight up evil. Everyone’s time in Utumno was miserable; Morgoth was incredibly demanding and intolerant of failure, and as time progressed he became more and more cruel in his punishments. But Mairon, desperately seeking approval of his master, blindly refused to acknowledge Morgoth’s dark nature even if at the time the Vala didn’t even notice his existence. However, one day he had left to see his siblings in Valinor and at his return things did a complete 180. Nobody could tell what had made him snap, but he became a true nightmare. This was also when he started to see Mairon, but this was only bad news… For years, Mairon was brutally abused and mistreated by Morgoth, forced to take over impossible tasks always set to fail and running around trying to please a master that could not be pleased. He was at the very bottom of the food chain in a fortress full of egotistical and selfish individuals that quickly followed in Morgoth’s steps, seeking to bring each other down to catch their Lord’s attention, and in the process simply provided endless amusement to the bastard. 

The story slowly progressed and became darker as Mairon’s initial innocence was warped and he was forced to do terrible things under Morgoth’s directions, things he had before never considered doing, but that he felt he was obligated to do for the master he served. The moral dilemmas in the novel was what hooked him into reading it, as it often presented complicated scenarios that would leave him thinking for days on end. After all, did Mairon even have a choice to begin with, despite what all the haters said? If he disobeyed, Morgoth could have just killed him. The Valar were far ahead in power compared to any Maiar, god-like beings that could reshape the earth and skies with their voices! 

But Mairon’s life only became worse and worse. Eventually, when he thought he was becoming closer to Morgoth, the Vala finally decided he was done playing with him and casted him out of Utumno, tossing him from above the sharp mountains to the world below. Unlike Valar who could go anywhere, Maiar were subjected to staying only within the confines of their master's realms, as they became weak and vulnerable otherwise. Granted, they still were somewhat immortal and if their body died their spirit would finally be free to return to their master where they would regain full strength and form a new vessel. The key was that… this only worked if they died of natural means, or by other’s hands. And Mairon did not die due to the fall, instead he was captured and sent to the island kingdom of Númenor, where he suffered great pain under the hands of a king who lusted and obsessed over his fair form— and yet, the foolish Maiar still had faith in his master, believing this to be a test of his loyalty. Mairon climbed up from the lowest of the low and over the years became invaluable for the king, whispering poisoned words into his ears until he had set a chain of chaos through the men of the island. Despite his pain and his own internal debate he created a glorious gift, convincing the Númenoreans to worship Morgoth and offer sacrifices to him. Naturally, Mairon’s efforts instead caught the attention of the other Valar. They were disgusted with his ‘wicked ways’, and Morgoth of course was able to convince them he had nothing to do with it, that he had never ordered him to do such a thing and did not condone it. And so, the Valar sank Númenor beneath the waves of the sea. As Mairon was swallowed by the cold waters he finally came to see that his master was scum and nothing he could ever do would be enough to satisfy his narcissistic desires. Furious, he had instead returned to Valinor and told the Valar all about Morgoth’s horrible deeds, thus betraying him… The Valar led an assault on Utumno, and casted Morgoth into The Void beyond Ëa, never to return again. Mairon was given an apology for everything, and he was granted special permission to lead his own small realm, not quite possessing the power of a Vala but being above other Maiar. 

And hey, he had been happy with that! It was so satisfying! But NO, instead the author had to continue, and as the story progressed little by little Mairon became more and more alike to Morgoth, corrupted with the idea of power, until at the end he had become Sauron, the tyrant who sought to enslave Middle Earth! All of that suffering, only for him to be defeated by a handful of characters that had hardly made an appearance before! It was utter trash!

And he, an avid reader who had been Mairon’s supporter from the start, was not happy with that ending!!! Mairon deserved to be happy and have everything after what he’d gone through! So what if he committed a few atrocities!? It didn’t matter! He would support all of Mairon’s wrongs! He deserved to be a little deranged after everything he had been through! God forbid a man has hobbies!

The Music shifted to announce the coming of another Ainu and he turned his head in time to see Manwë enter the room. 

He looked much like he was described in the novel, with pale skin and white hair cascading all around him, eyes completely white as well. He had a rather plain appearance, elvish to be approachable by the Children of Eru, although he had bright golden tipped wings on his back, carefully folded to occupy less space, and another smaller set at each side of his head. Similarly, as one looked closer the differences between him and mortals became apparent; his skin had a sheen and smoothness to it that was akin to porcelain, and each of his feathers had the look of finely carved metal, like a statue or doll come to life. Something about his face felt oddly familiar… he sort of looked like his sister, he supposed, if he squinted his eyes… He had a pretty face after all, very doll-like indeed.

“Ah, you are awake, brother.” His lips twisted into a smile. Honestly, he was starting to wonder how exactly they could bear to look at his ugly face, because he certainly felt despair just thinking about it. “What seems to be the problem, Ešedēz? I see him rather well”

She bowed her head and then eyed Morgoth. 

“He was a bit… unsettled, just before”

What, was he not present in the room?

“I’m fine,” he cut in.

Fuck, his voice sounded weird too. Like a million voices layered on top of each other, all of them speaking a different tongue. It should not be any easy to understand what he said, but he knew, somehow, that he had spoken English and that they would hear whatever language they shared. Valarin? It may be Valarin. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t even know what language they were speaking to him! He thought that it sounded like English, but perhaps it wasn’t and somehow his brain was simply translating. 

Ugh, thinking about that was not helping him be less disoriented.

“I… had a strange vision, that's all,” he added. 

Manwë frowned slightly. 

“A vision?”

Uh, he didn’t really know if that was possible at all. PIAW had gone into deep detail about a lot of aspects of the setting, but even then not everything was available and he wasn’t physically able to retain all that information… Besides, all the details offered often were unnecessary discourses of wholly irrelevant information. Half the time the author didn’t even bother to say the names of characters that were relevant for entire arcs, yet they provided detailed descriptions of wildlife featured in a single chapter!

“Nothing of particular worry,” he lied. But, the Music was really started to become louder and louder, and his frightening understanding of it had made a few things clear. “It was just… my name has changed”

Ainur had names in a strange way. Since they were cosmic entities of great power only below their Maker, Eru, they identified themselves in different ways. First was by Song, a melody that represented them. It could change and evolve with the passage of time. Then they could also adopt a ‘mortal name’ in spoken language, following the ways of the Children to feel closer to them. That second name was often a close translation to the feeling their Song transmitted, but Melkor at this point imagined that it was impossible to truly translate names accurately.

“A name change! That is grand news!” Manwë let out a soft gasp, clapping his hands once. The sound he produced was of porcelain clinking together, thus confirming his guess about his skin not being skin.

“Your name had not changed since the First Song!” Estë corroborated. 

Wait, really? He was under the impression it was a universal thing every certain amount of time. And wasn’t Morgoth old as fuck too?

“May we hear it?” Manwë asked, stepping close and looking on with eagerness. 

This man truly was similar to his sister, it was sort of familiar but also kind of creepy.

He blanked for a moment, but then figured it was best to just flow along, and his mouth opened to let out a few notes ring in the air, a small chunk of what truly was a long and winded melody. They had no true translation indeed, but the feeling they gave him was akin to ‘ice-void-kingship’. Both Manwë and Estë echoed it— unlike his own voice, which was great and terrible, theirs were musical and beautiful, a fresh breeze of air compared to a raging hurricane. 

“It is beautiful,” Estë offered him a kind smile and reached to touch his cheek. “Should we call you Morgoth still, or do you wish for something else?”

He paused to think, but the knowledge his brain already possessed provided an easy answer. His own name, of course, and the way it would be said in their tongue. 

“Mbelekhōrōz,” he spoke, and as he did the Music settled down and started softening. “My name is Melkor”

If he were still a human his head would surely be hurting, but as it was Ainur did not feel any sort of pain or discomfort in their fána. Not unless they wanted to, probably. 

He had thought they might clock into the fact he was not the real Morgoth, but apparently his disoriented state was rather fitting for a name change. Manwë had even patted his leg with sympathy and nodded, saying his first name change had had him feeling terrible for days afterwards. Melkor was still not sure if it was pure luck that his excuse worked, or if it was due to the miraculous instincts he seemed to possess now. Estë wanted him to stay under her care until he felt better, and although he desperately wanted to see just what part of the plot he had been dropped on, he was grateful for the excuse to stay isolated and contemplate his new situation. 

After a whole afternoon of panicking and screaming into his pillow, he decided there just was no use in crying over spilled milk; he was here now and he might as well get used to his new life. Even if he had been able to return, he had died in his old life, and he severely doubted that could be reversed… He felt a distant pang of guilt thinking of his mother and sister, but they would be alright without him, and they hadn’t truly spoken closely in many years now anyway. He just had to make sure he would survive and not be tossed into the Void, but he could not do that until he returned to Utumno and evaluated the damage done… And who knows, maybe someday he’d be able to find a way to talk to Eru, he probably would be able to help in some way. Well. That was if he wasn’t destroyed for being an impostor wearing his son’s skin. 

For now, he would start with the important changes. 

He absolutely despised this fána. 

Estë had provided him with a much more comfortable guest room instead of the hospital bed he had woken in, and so he now had a brightly polished silver mirror to glare into… as he understood it, changing fána was as easy as breathing for the Ainur, especially so for the Valar, so this should not take long. He knew a great deal of things he shouldn’t know, such as how the Music worked, how to Sing, how to use his power. It was ingrained into every fibre of his being, so perhaps it was better this way, otherwise he’d need a tutorial, and there weren’t any convenient guides to tell him what to do or why he was there in the first place. If it turned out there was someone behind this, he was leaving a one star review.

He closed his eyes and focused on his body, taking hold of every fibre and nerve, and then he started willing them into shape. Height, weight, muscle… he envisioned himself as clearly as he could. His skin no longer pulled over bones, shapes changing, awkward joints being replaced. He kept the sharp teeth, at least some of them, behind his lips. The ears were also elongated more akin to an elf’s, and the talons were replaced with retractable claws. Ice blue eyes met him when he reopened them, long eyelashes turned white with frost that unconsciously formed on them, although he found he didn’t actually hate the look of it. He had tried changing the colour of his hair but it evidently hadn’t worked, it was still a void… Well, it was sort of on brand. Ice-void-kingship after all. The hue of his skin was darkened to a less sickly grey, lips tinted blue and purple. His face was, at least, once again youthful and handsome. The world was back in order! He had never thought he would miss his own face this much, thank g— Thank Eru that fiasco was short lived.

He looked down at himself lastly. His body was wrapped in a simple black robe, now taller and with decent muscle built into it, although not quite as much since he didn’t truly like the bulk, although he was most certainly taller than he had been as a human, and even taller than Morgoth had been, even if he had never thought about it as he reshaped his fána, like a setting being put on random. At least there were no weird appendages of any sort. 

But well, if he wasn’t a human anymore, then he should also make sure his status as a Vala was visible, right? How would he do that while feeling comfortable in his own body and appearance? So far he had only met Estë and Manwë, and both of them looked vastly different from one another, he did not know if the other Valar preferred to look like the Children or if they retained their unnatural appearances, but they at least did not look much like living beings at all, still clearly ‘other’. In the original novel Morgoth had never been physically described often, except for when he became angry, which the author described as him leaving his fána to manifest as pure darkness and overwhelming chaos… Most other Valar were only vaguely described in the same way, so he had little to no idea of what to base his new fána on, because apparently the author was more concerned over the exact layout of entire rooms and the look of mountains and rivers than they were over the appearance of their own characters. A lot of the fandom’s fanart was wildly different and suited to each artist’s tastes. He didn’t think there was a single full description of Mairon anywhere, and he was the protagonist!

What could he use…? 

Oh! Morgoth was the father of dragons, wasn’t he? He had created them and a handful of other ugly little creatures, he could work with dragons most definitely. No sane person would dislike dragons.

The last touch to his fána was the horns, curled backwards and with an icy appearance, and the spiked tail that complimented them. He thought it was best to not go too far overboard with additional features. 

Now though… Now he had to make plans. 

Melkor sat for long hours on his bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands laced in front of his lips as he thought long and deep about what he was supposed to do. 

First and foremost he needed to find what point in the timeline he had arrived in. If he was still early into his reign he could just be a normal boss, treat everyone right, and bam! Problem solved. But then again, what about Mairon…? He was just a Maiar but he was brilliant, he had a lot of hidden potential that neither of his masters had encouraged, he could do so much better than working in a forge or as an indentured servant. 

And Melkor— 

Ok, listen, he could fully admit he was one of the very few readers actually on the protagonist’s side, and he was quite probably his number one apologist. Most of the fans were in for the novelty of the perspective of a villain, while he was waddling deep in the waters of denial. He had engaged in many, many forum fights and long winded rants about their lack of comprehensive reading, to the point he had gained a reputation in the fandom for being crazy. The only people who hadn't avoided him like the plague were a few select artists, and only because he had dropped a small fortune on a lot of… questionable fanart.

But he was right! Mairon was not a villain! And even if he were -which he was not because he said so and he was always right- then what did it matter? He was the protagonist and thus everyone should be on his side. That's just how it works!

At least now he had the chance of spinning the story! 

The problem was that if Morgoth had already abused and mistreated him, Mairon would remember it. As much as he had been devoted to him, Mairon did not forget and forgive, and he had made sure every little slight had been repaid tenfold before he was sent to the Void. Melkor could be somewhat excited to be in this universe and see what it had to offer, but he would very much not prefer being subjected to that fate, thank you. The Void meant eternal loneliness, salve for the creepy creatures spawning in it, things so foul and disgusting not even Morgoth had liked them. And since Valar could not die, it truly meant eternal suffering.

So… he had to work to get on Mairon’s good side, be the mentor he truly deserved (completely ignoring he had absolutely no idea of what he could teach him), and once he’d reached his full potential Mairon would look back and think that his old master was pretty cool, and they’d part ways amicably. 

Therefore, plan:

1. Go back to Utumno and reorganise the hierarchy. 

2. Be a good teacher? (With a side note of remembering to figure out what that meant later).

3. Protect Mairon from the possible dangers that could rise along the plot. 

4. Profit!

Hmm, he’d also need to see the Valar somewhat often though, and he didn’t know how fast they would notice Morgoth was replaced. If they did they might still throw him to the Void, or worse… tell Eru. The Maker had never appeared once in PIAW, not even in the shape of faceless orders, and he was not eager to find what he was like… Eru probably would know instantly that he was an impostor, if he didn’t know already.

Perhaps he could just avoid family meetings? He was the emo one, who would even miss him. 

“My Lord?”

Melkor turned his head slightly to the door, where a Maiar was nervously wringing their hands. They wore an elven fána with chocolate brown hair and skin.

“Lady Estë wishes to let you know there will be a feast today attended by the Firstborn. She inquires if you feel well enough to attend”

A feast? Oh no, that’d be a terrible idea, he hadn’t even determined how he was going to act in order to pass as Morgoth. Absolutely not. 

“I believe I still feel indisposed. Do give her my apologies” 

The Maiar bowed deeply without questioning him. 

“Yes, My Lord”

Now, what was he saying about family meetings and general behaviour?

Unbeknownst to him, there had been a crucial plot development set to happen that very night, the catalyst to the true disasters set off by Morgoth, all of them rooted in a set of white gems never once mentioned in the original novel. But as he was too busy overthinking, he never noticed the crescendo of the Music trying to warn him, nor would he ever know that if he had stepped into that banquet hall, he would’ve also fallen to their charm. 

In another world, those gems of pure light would’ve tempted and corrupted him, pushing him to the edge and clouding his judgement forevermore. 

In this one, the Silmarils never become anything beyond a nice display in the great houses of the elven lords. 

In this universe, you could say Melkor did save countless lives. 

Sort of.

…

Better not give him any credit, the ego boost is wholly unnecessary.

Chapter Text

Melkor didn't know how long he spent in that room, time was hard to grasp in this new body.

It seemed to slip through his fingers, slippery and avoidant. The Music didn't make it easier, a constant distraction that pulled him away from his thoughts... If he focused on it for more than a few moments he could feel his mind drifting away, following the howling winds that blew across Arda, the crackling ice and the falling snow far away in the north. He could have very well spent years in there, or only a few days, but nobody disturbed him or bothered him seeing as he did not need food or drink, and so he only returned to more awareness once Estë came to see him. They were to have a small celebration, she said, in honour of his name change. She had not been any surprised to see his new fána, glancing up and down and giving a short nod of approval, which told him that the Valar were likely prone to changing them every so often. He almost wanted to bail on her, still unsure as to how to behave around them without giving away that he wasn't the original goods, but he was slowly going insane inside those four tiny walls, so he agreed in the end.

As they stepped outside of the confines of his room they walked through a long hallway that led out to a garden of vibrant colours. Melkor did not know if it was a question of his new eyes being far better or if it was the world itself being superior, but it was all so bright and... Well, beautiful. The blue sky above was casted with a shimmering gold, like a curtain of additional sheer colour, the sun radiating heat; he could see her from so far away, the charioteer, whose name had never been mentioned in the book. She had long curly locks blowing behind her, bright red and orange, her skin dark yet with the same golden shimmer. She wore no true clothing, enveloped in flames as she was, but the fire itself formed the semblance of a robe around her frame. 

"Ah, I forgot you were not here when the Sun and Moon first rose," Estë said casually, stopping to glance up as well, "isn't she beautiful?"

"Who is she?" He asked directly, finally peeling his eyes away.

"Tulukhigas, whom the Firstborn call Arien. She came down to Arda with the express purpose of her duty. The Moon is in charge of Ibrīʒarōz, or Tilion, a beloved hunter of Arōmēz"

A light pressure poked at the very energy around him and he nearly lashed out in surprise, but he noted that it had been Estë and he reluctantly allowed it. She conjured an image into his mind, of a tall and slender man shining like pure silver, with long straight horns growing out of his forehead and white hair that was braided with white vines, morphing into short fur that covered most of his body. Ah, that must be this Tilion then. 

Melkor didn't even know the Sun and Moon hadn't always been there, this was not mentioned in the book, but by now he had learnt that that stupid hack author had not included a lot of things. He would give them one thing though... All their detailed descriptions of the world had not made it justice. Even if they had spent the entire book trying to describe a single flower or colour, their words would not have sufficed. 

"Well? Are you coming?"

Estë's shape shimmered and rippled, ultimately breaking apart to her pure ëala, which drifted away upwards, a much easier way of travelling. He... still did not know how to do that, but he tried to imagine it all the same, and the rest was sort of instinctual. 

He could not describe the feeling, for it was no feeling and too many feelings all at once. He could not physically see yet he could see everything, even further than his fána could. The vastness of Aman extending below, the rich forests with their darker spots, the glittering cities of the Firstborn, the rolling waves, and even beyond them to rocky island shores and the golden sands of Middle Earth. Estë floated high above the clouds and he followed, emerging at the other side to see the tops of the higher peaks of the mountains, and the golden and crystal palace that rested on their cusps. Various eagles and winged Maiar circled it and if he had any eyes at the moment he would have rolled them. Manwë truly liked to show off, apparently.

[I see this place has not changed in my absence,] he vaguely projected in the air.

Estë answered with something that could be translated as a fondly exasperated huff, as if this was something Morgoth had alluded to hundreds of times.

They landed in a platform open to the skies, a wide semi circle with a mosaic that depicted a sort of compass, and they both reformed their fána right there. He swept off his tail, glad to be back in a physical state... A couple of Maiar awaited them, in humanoid appearance, or at least he assumed as much since they wore veils that obscured their heads. They wordlessly gestured for them to follow after a deep bow, and guided them to the giant double doors that slowly opened into an equally huge and adorned hall. Stars were the main decoration, millions of them carved in gold extending through the walls up towards the arched ceilings, floating lamps following the same theme and glowing with actual starlight from within. The floors were dark marble with golden veins, causing their steps to echo out in the deserted hall.

It was pretty, but so impractical. Who needed this much space for evidently so little people inhabiting it? Manwë, instead of an eagle, was making him think of magpies or crows hoarding shiny things. 

They were taken to a second set of huge doors, which the Maiar opened for them, bowing as a goodbye as they did not follow inside.

"Darling-dearest!"

A blur of motion barrelled towards them and Estë expertly caught her attacker, laughing softly.

This new character shone with actual glitter of a rainbow's worth of colour, long wavy hair shining in an iridiscent way that made it constantly change hues as they moved. Their skin was much the same, with swirling rainbows of patterns constantly changing, although thankfully their features were fixed in place and shape. They too like Manwë had wings, although theirs were thin and just as iridiscent, like a dragonfly's, fluttering in excitement. They even sported a pair of swirly antennas curled downwards along their braids. They wore a simple robe in green, although they wore dozens of chains and little crystals hanging as accessories and trinkets. 

"Irubōz," Estë said affectionately, brushing their hair behind a pointed ear.

Ah, this was Irmo. He remembered him— In PIAW he had never even appeared directly, but the author had mentioned him here and there due to his curious nature. Irmo held dominion over Dreams, which sounded innocent enough, but it had been said that they clouded his mind and melded into him so much that he got lost in them often. He was more akin to a child, full of wonder and innocence, and as a consequence he was treasured and protected by the other Valar despite being of the older ones. Initially  he was said to be promised to Estë by Manwë, but she had refused since he was not sound of mind and could not give informed consent. Nonetheless she had a lot of affection for him and cared for him whenever his siblings could not. The main reason Melkor remembered him was that he was mentioned to be the only Vala to actively like Morgoth down to the very end, and he had cried bitterly when he was banished to The Void, even when none of the others had. 

"Look who is here with me"

Irmo peered over her shoulder, an easy task since he was actually taller than her, and his face brightened even more. He was truly beautiful, with soft androgynous features and two pairs of eyes that were a vibrant green, solid gems with no iris or pupil, framed by long eyelashes. He let go of Estë and threw his arms around Melkor's neck with a squeal, hanging off the ground since Melkor was much taller still.

He awkwardly wrapped his arms around him, unsure as to what to do or how to handle the excitement. His wings even fluttered some more, spreading glittery shimmers everywhere.

"My dearest came to see me!" He giggled in delight.

"Hello, Irubōz," he said calmly, although his lips twitched in the ghost of a smile.

Alright fine! He was kind of adorable, who could resist the genuine sweetness he seemed to be made of! He bet even Morgoth couldn't be enough of a bastard to reject him.

"I have missed you," the Lord of Dreams said, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder, "you never visit my realm anymore"

Or maybe he was. Really, Morgoth!?

"I have been unexpectedly busy," he answered, making up some bullshit excuse, "I will try to visit more when I have time"

It didn't seem like Irmo was going to let go anytime soon but he weighed nothing to Melkor so he let him be, adjusting his grip to hold him securely with practice that came from holding his sister's kids. Estë smiled, having expected it and looking pleased that Melkor had handled Irmo correctly. They walked together properly into the room, towards the other Valar.

He had no idea of how exactly familial relationships worked between all of them. They had a single Maker, but only Morgoth and Manwë were directly and explicitly called his sons, and only certain Valar were grouped as siblings, not to mention that some were married to each other. He knew that Irmo had two siblings of his own, which were the ones presented to him next.

"Neyenanāz, Māχanōz," Estë greeted.

Neyenanāz, which his mind translated as Nienna, was dressed in a very simple dress that tied at her waist with a silver belt, long flowing sleeves nearly covering her hands. Her head was covered by a mantle and her face with a translucent veil. Contraty to Irmo her only accessory was a delicate circlet with a dangling opal. They were otherwise in features identical, as they were triplets, although her face was slightly more round, and her cheeks were wet with shining tears that flowed from her silver eyes, always running and dispersing in the air slowly. She was Mercy and she shared all the pains and sorrows of the Children to lessen their load, this much he knew even though it was the first time he heard her name. Their last sibling, Námo, was Judgement and he was tasked with the care of the dead in his Halls. He dressed alike to Nienna, although he wore a hood that obscured his face nearly entirely, leaving only his mouth visible beneath his veil. 

Both of them had been featured only during the War against Morgoth, so he did not know much beyond what they did and their domains. 

“Mbelekhōrōz,” Nienna said softly. Her voice also had an echo of sadness in it. “I am glad to see you feeling better”

“Thank you, it has been… A strange experience”

She smiled softly, as Námo did. 

“Indeed it can be,” he said, nodding. 

“It must be overwhelming for the strongest of us to go through such a trivial thing”

Nienna looked wholly unimpressed even through her perpetual sorrow, and Námo let out a small sigh. Irmo stirred in his arms, looking over to that new voice with a soft pout on his lips that showed his displeasure. Estë rolled her eyes, something Melkor was starting to suspect was a recurring gesture she made in their presence. 

The voice belonged to a man, tall and broad. And when he said broad, he referred to the fact that not only was he absolutely ripped, he also showed off said muscles for all to see. His pale skin was dusted with faint freckles at his shoulders and nose, and he even sported some body hair, quite unexpected from the meticulous perfection he had so far observed in the Ainur. His hair was blond, kept in braids that reminded him of viking hairstyles, tied with leather. His eyes were also more ‘normal’, being an intense blue. Although he was tall and clearly strong, he was not quite as tall as Melkor. 

“Tulukhastāz,” Estë said, “can we please keep the arguments off this evening?”

Melkor had no idea of which one was this, the name was unfamiliar. But wait… Muscly, half naked, blond… Ah! This must be Strength (yes, quite on the nose…). He was, apparently, one of few who could stand against Morgoth one on one, being in between the most powerful Valar. 

… Well, actually, he could confront Morgoth once Morgoth was weak and spent, so he was not quite sure what was the true power scale. 

Evidently, Tulukhastāz -Tulkas?- didn’t like him already. Melkor could already say the same. 

“Relax, Ešedēz. What is some harmless teasing?”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. 

“May I remind you that, the last time you provoked him into a brawl, you destroyed the lamps that lit the world in the process?”

Tulkas turned red, crossing his arms. 

“That was a long time ago, even before the Trees!”

Melkor could not understand their references, but Irmo giggled quietly, amused by the exchange. 

“A brawl you didn’t even win,” Melkor piped in maliciously, taking a wild guess. 

But Tulkas became even more red, which told him he had guessed correctly. Irmo giggled again, this time a little louder, and covered his mouth with a hand as he did. 

“That does not prove anything,” Tulkas grunted. 

Melkor leaned down just to rub more salt in the wound, seeing as otherwise they were not able to meet eye to eye. It seemed that Tulkas finally started to take a look at the new fána he had crafted, momentarily getting distracted. 

“You are always free to come back for another beating”

Tulkas might as well just combust at that point. 

“Mbelekhōrōz, Tulukhastāz…”

Melkor raised his eyes and straightened up as Manwë joined them. He wore a sleevless tunic that day, revealing doll joints -although his hands lacked them, they existed at the shoulder, elbow and wrist- to accompany his entire aesthetic, and delicate gold patterns that did kind of look hand painted onto the surface of his ‘skin’. He distantly wondered if porcelain dolls already existed in that world and he copied them, or if they would be invented in imitation of him. The true chicken or the egg debate.

“We didn’t start anything,” he defended himself. 

“Tulukhastāz was being mean again,” Irmo complained, squeezing Melkor’s neck. 

“They are being the same as always,” Nienna sighed. “Nothing to worry about”

“He is mean!”

“I am not mean!” Tulkas spluttered. 

“Yes, you are,” Irmo huffed. “And you never apologise to my dearest when you do it”

Nienna and Estë both smiled, but did not try to fight Irmo in any way. It was evident that he was truly spoiled rotten by everyone. Well, why not play along?

“He is so heartless when he speaks to me, isn’t he?” Melkor drawled in a tone too lazy to classify as dramatic, slumping his head against Irmo’s. 

“So heartless!”

Both women stiffled laughter and Námo raised his hand to cover his face under his hood. 

“And nobody ever tells him off…”

“Never…”

Irmo’s delicate hands grasped his cheeks, their foreheads pressed together. Despite the very harmless and casual conversation, Melkor felt the affection through an unspoken bond deep beneath the corners of his mind, under the Music and his thoughts. 

Irmo was a delight, truly a breath of fresh air.

Melkor had had him for less than twenty minutes but if anything happened to him he would kill everyone in the room and then himself. 

(Unbeknownst to him, from the outside, they did indeed make quite the sweet picture. Tulkas turned red due to entirely different reasons and turned away in a haste, internally screaming as to what the fuck was going on and why Morgoth was suddenly… hot…)

“Fine, fine, I’m sorry,” Manwë caved in. “Will you come join us for dinner now?”

Valar didn’t need to eat, but it was a nice luxury from time to time. 

The table was long, but given their sizes, it was actually just about enough to house them without them being piled too close together. Manwë sat at the head, with his wife to his right and Melkor to his left. After Varda sat all the ladies, and after Melkor all the men, except Irmo who stayed sat on his lap, which meant Námo sat directly at their side. 

Varda, who sat across from him, gave him a dismissive glance. She too did not have a very humanoid fána, instead being made of mist and miniature stars. Her skin was dark and her hair had a purple hue like a nebulae, sharp eyes of starlight. She was pretty, of course, but he also had the feeling she and Morgoth had not gotten along one bit. 

“I have the feeling I am missing a lot of context,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. 

“This happens to you because you are a recluse,” Námo pointed at his side. “A lot has happened since you left”

“Mm. Why is Bharadāz glaring at me?”

“Who knows? Her reasons are never apparent”

“Is somebody else upset at me?”

“Yābhanāz. She still resents that you did not prevent her Trees from decaying”

Yavanna, Nature. She sat next to Varda, with long locks of auburn hair that was composed of autumn leaves. Most of her was made of greenery, although it melded very well together to give the illusion of flesh. She had an hourglass figure well defined by her lack of clothing, barely wrapped in flowering vines. At least her green eyes did not glare, but she did avoid his gaze. 

“Life follows a predetermined cycle,” he said, because it did not make much sense to him why she wanted him to… What? Stop the death of her trees? Melkor didn’t even know that was something he could do. 

“So you said. But they are her creations, and she loves them”

Was Morgoth Death? But that didn’t seem to work well with Námo, who was Judgement and the one in actual charge of the dead. Maybe Decay? Rot? 

“Mm…”

“Arōmēz-dearest married while dearest-dearest was away,” Irmo said happily.

“He did?”

Arōmēz sat after Námo and he leaned back on his chair, elbow propped up on the backrest to face them with a grin. He was a very handsome fellow, with ash blond hair. He had intricate horns that sprouted and curled upwards, a bright horizontal crescent moon tattoed on his forehead. Small feathers in orange and yellow grew from his cheeks out towards his hair, and in between the strands some full feathers could be seen. His eyes were a mix of gold and moss green, and he had an easy air about him. Unlike the others he dressed in furs and leathers taken from prey he had hunted, and his horns were adorned with wooden beads and leather straps. Whenever he grined he flashed long fangs and teeth.

“To the most beautiful of all the Eldar,” he declared boldly. 

Arōmēz— Oromë, was Wilderness. Melkor remembered him from the book, he was The Rider who led The Hunt, both Maiar and Quendi who served him. They hunted the primordial beasts of The Void who slumbered beneath Arda and sometimes slipped through small cracks, but they also quite loved nature in general. Oromë was fickle and wild, loving adventure, and he had been mentioned at the beginning of the novel briefly, alluded to because Mairon had met a Maiar who was an old lover of his. The reader was to get the impression that he was quite the playboy, which was why he was surprised to hear he had tied the knot. 

“The most impulsive, perhaps,” a female voice said across the table, “but I must admit Tyelkormo is good for you”

The voice belonged to a beautiful woman with long dark hair. She looked fully humanoid, except she had an undeniable aura of power around her. They resembled each other faintly.

Melkor also couldn’t help but notice that next to her sat an entirely silent woman who was too busy with the embroidery on her lap, her long dark hair half obscuring her face. He figured she did not care about whatever they were talking about.

“You are simply blind, Ngešešāz, my sister. You do not see him the way I do”

Oh, he was love-struck alright. 

She was Nessa, who if he was not mistaken, was The Arts. She liked dancing the most, but she represented creativity and joy as a whole. She was Tulkas’ wife, her only flaw in his opinion. Truly, her taste in men could see some big improvements. 

“He surprised all of us,” Estë nodded at his bewildered expression. “Arōmēz, of all people”

“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

“Brother, you slept with all the Maiar under my charge, and half of everyone else’s too. When you suddenly decided to rectify your ways, we all thought you had lost your mind”

“I did not know then that there could be someone who would steal my heart,” he defended himself. “Just look at the fine examples set by our brethren; none of your matched pairs are truly well made, except Yābhanāz and Aʒūlēz”

Manwë cleared his throat loudly and Oromë rolled his eyes. 

“We do not indulge in the affections the Firstborn do”

Melkor knew then that Oromë was spot on. He and Varda didn’t look much like a married couple. Perhaps only one married out of convenience, really… Nessa herself didn’t seem to care much for Tulkas beyond basic affection, although he didn’t know who else between them was matched. 

“Mānawenūz, you tried to pair me and Arōmēz,” another one of the ladies piped in. “Me. And Arōmēz”

She sat next to Yavanna, with similar copper toned hair, although she was made of soft flower petals layered atop each other, and her dress was a shower of them gathered around a slender frame. She was quite beautiful, but she looked terribly put off by the thought of being married to the Huntsman. 

Said Huntsman shivered dramatically to show he thought the same. 

“Vānāz would know how to keep you in shape,” Manwë excused. 

“No, I wouldn’t. Has he ever done anything anyone tells him to do?”

“He obeys his new husband,” Nessa said happily. 

“I don’t think that counts”

“Arōmēz-dearest says yes to me!”

“You also don’t count, my sweet flower,” Vána said gently. “Who could ever say no to you?”

Irmo giggled and Melkor raised a brow towards his brother.

“Why are you expecting Wilderness to listen to you?” He asked plainly. 

Manwë pouted softly, and if he could blush he would have. Meanwhile, the others laughed at the exchange. 

Melkor was starting to see this was truly, as he had thought, just like a family dinner. And how he was getting away with being there was a mystery, to be honest. 

“Mānawenūz is attempting to maintain order,” Varda spoke up, not smiling at all, and she raised her chin to look down at him. “Especially so with the responsibilities he shoulders in your absence”

The laughter tapered off and Melkor narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“If you want to say anything say it plainly, Bharadāz”

“Mbelekhōrōz,” Námo said under his breath, a slight warning.

Was Morgoth prone to fighting? It would fit with what the book said later on.

“You demand our respect as the eldest, yet you have abandoned us to handle duties you ought to take on”

The Music in his ears twinkled and Melkor reluctantly let it slip stronger into his head, because he knew he needed its help to know what to answer. Of what he could tell from it…

“I am elder amongst you,” he huffed. “I laid the foundation for Arda in the first Song before you ever came to be as a thought in Father’s mind. Long before even Mānawenūz, I had already conceived the shape of the earth and sky with our Maker”

What the fuck. Honestly what the fuck.

Had Morgoth actually done all those things?? Melkor knew he was the strongest, and all the Valar had needed to band together to take him down for good, but this was all new information coming from his own mouth. 

“Do you wish for us to praise you for following Eru’s will?”

“Bharadāz,” Manwë said quietly, “guard your words”

She turned her head towards him.

“You let him speak and move over you too often, husband”

Melkor almost expected him to back off and he was about to retort, but unexpectedly, he didn’t. 

“I don’t let him do anything, Bharadāz. I respect my brother and his station above me— He is the fuel that pushes forth our own domains, without him Arda would be stale and dying.” Manwë was not unkind, but he was firm. “His purpose is higher, one only Father is privy to, and as any son ought to do I respect his choice and design”

Morgoth was what.

“Mbelekhōrōz and I do not see eye to eye,” Yavanna suddenly said, finally taking a look at him. “But I am not blind to his role. His presence is needed in Middle Earth, to preserve the natural order that we otherwise ignore in Aman”

Wait, wait, wait—

The Music echoed in deeper tones in the background, and Mekor got his answer. 

Melkor, Morgoth— They were Rot, and Decay, and Destruction and Death. But most importantly they were Transformation, their trail of destruction brought forth the spark of new life, the same way a forest fire opened the way for renewal. The sickness that extended from their nonchalant touch befelled even the strongest of beasts and trees, their cold winds and unforgiving snow could penetrate past the thickest stones, and yet… Middle Earth hung at a perfect balance that was impossible to achieve in Valinor without their direct and conscious intervention. 

That answered many questions, such as why Yavanna couldn’t like him…

It also left him infinitely confused, because why did Melkor represent all those things? And why had he just gone off the rails in the original story? What exactly had turned him into a megalomaniac utter asshole who had nigh broken the world? From what he was hearing now, none of the others hated him, they instead respected him and accepted his presence. Hell, Irmo liked him a lot!  Well, hadn’t the original novel also clued into that…? None of the other Valar had ever suspected he was doing evil scummy things behind their backs until Mairon came to them with the harsh evidence to prove it, and in that specific story arc there had still been some of them who didn’t believe him, needing to see it with their own eyes. And Irmo had cried a lot in the end when they banished him, devastated by the loss. 

None of it made sense. If Morgoth had a loving family (to whatever extent the Valar could be considered so), then his blackening shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Had he just been a good enough liar to not rise suspicion? But then again, he also hadn’t been quite as terrible at the very beginning, only truly going off the rails after a specific point. If he truly was so important to the ecosystem too… then throwing him into The Void would have had terrible and devastating consequences, wouldn’t it? Without his presence to create the winters the seasons would be out of wack entirely, and that was likely the smallest and minor of the problems that came with it. It was just… weird. Was this something the author had intended to happen? Or was this something the world itself had created to fill in the blanks? How much was left out of the original text and how unreliable was Mairon’s narration? Or… as an even scarier thought… how much had Mairon not known about how the world worked at all?

“Must we go over this same discussion again? It is always the same every family dinner”

Melkor eyed the other end of the table, to the man that had spoken. He was made of water, literally, transluscent and flowing with a soft blue glow. His features were not very defined, drifting between a youthful man and a bearded elder. He was resting his elbow on the table to support his head with his hand, bored out of his mind. 

“I agree with Ullubōz,” the last one said at his side. “Let us just eat in peace”

In contrast with Ullubōz -which was who? Water? The Music chimed happily, answering with an affirmation and another name, Ulmo.

This other one was red haired, but his hair was pure magma, bright and flowy near the ends and half solid near the top. He too sported a beard, well braided with metal beads, and he was as big as Tulkas was except he was wider, built like a pro wrestler or weight lifting champion, and he dressed very simple too. This one he did know, it was Aulë, Fire, the god of the forge who used to be Mairon’s Master. 

“Yes, thank you,” Estë sighed. 

Melkor sighed and rested his back against his chair, looking down at Irmo on his lap. 

“Remind me to avoid the next family dinner,” he whispered. 

Irmo nodded seriously and at their side Námo let out a groan. 

“We would miss you, Mbelekhōrōz,” Oromë gasped dramatically. 

“No, we wouldn’t—” Tulkas said immediately. 

“Yes we would!” Irmo pouted. 

“Would we, though…?” Námo mumbled. 

“ Māχanōz!” Vána giggled. 

“ Mānawenūz!” Oromë called, perhaps too loudly. “Support our cause here!”

Melkor narrowed his eyes at his new brother, who looked at him with a pout, batting his eyelashes. For a moment he could swear he could see his dumb sister—

“I’m never coming back here,” he huffed, looking away with his nose turned up. 

Oromë burst out laughing like a maniac and Varda visibly bristled, but most of the table had also broken out in laughter. The woman who had remained silent so far startled and looked up around her, as if finally realising there was company, and after a second she went back to her needlework. 

After dinner, Manwë politely asked for a private conversation. Irmo was not happy to let go of Melkor just yet, but Oromë had managed to convince him after he promised to carry him on his shoulders across the gardens, and Estë assured him that they would find some of his favourite berries to eat during their walk. Melkor had also been very reluctant to put him down, which had made Vána and Nessa giggle as they watched, but alas, he couldn't truly ignore his brother forever. Irmo sadly waved as they walked away, tucked against Estë's side.

Manwë brought him up a long stairwell around the highest peak, a stair that was carved directly from the rock itself, out in the open. There was no railing, so he was very grateful that he would not die if he fell off, although it would certainly be embarrassing if he did. At the very top the peak ended in a flat platform where a gazebo had been built; marble columns ending in high arcs with clear crystals hanging down as decorations and chiming with the winds. A pair of luxurious chairs were beneath it, with a small table in between, and they sat there together to look out where they had a beautiful view of Valinor. The chair was slightly too small for Melkor's size and his tail, but he managed to find a comfortable position sat sideways with his legs slung over the armrest. Manwë didn't seem to find his casual stance any strange, even though he sat very proper and straight.

“I worried for you,” Manwë said directly after a short silence, letting out a sigh. “We didn’t hear a single word from your part in many years… I feared your fight with Tulkas had truly angered you this time”

Melkor tentatively listened to the Music, which happily supplied the answer (could Music be happy? He wasn’t actually sure, it wasn’t an entity on its own… was it?); Morgoth and Tulkas had had a huge brawl, and knocked down the lamps that lit the world. The Valar had moved to Valinor after that, abandoning their old land of Almaren -which only now did he learn of its existence, of fucking course-, and Morgoth stayed only long enough to hear of Yavanna’s plan to create the Trees. She had pleaded with him to let them thrive without rot and decay, and he had refused her curtly before he left, still upset. 

“I was not thrilled,” he answered honestly. Morgoth’s old anger still echoed in his own Song even now. “I needed time to clear my head”

Manwë nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. 

“You must forgive me, but I… I asked Father about you”

Melkor blinked, surprised. 

“You talked to Father over my absence?” 

Manwë looked chastised. 

“I know I shouldn’t have!”

“Mānawenūz…”

“You never speak to me about your troubles,” he blurted out, eyes wide. “And you always turn away instead of letting me apologise! I panicked, I thought you hated us”

“You thought I hated you because we didn’t talk for a few thousand years?” He asked, rolling his eyes. 

“You live so far away and we don’t get to see you often…”

Melkor opened his mouth, but right at that moment he was hit by a particular memory…

“Why do you always have to be so annoying!”

“Annoying? You call being worried about you annoying!? You disappeared entirely! I thought something horrible had happened!”

“I was living my life! Maybe if you lived yours you wouldn’t be so clingy!”

“It’s not fair of you to shut us out!”

“Maya, leave your brother alone,” their mother sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her nose. 

“But mother!”

“He’s a grown man, he can make his own choices”

“I have never said otherwise, but there is a difference between making his own way in life and completely cutting off contact with his family,” Maya had said, tears misting her eyes. “Have we not given him a good life? What did we do wrong to deserve only silence?

Their mother had always tended to take Melkor’s side, who was the youngest and the spoiled baby. Even then… he always felt as if he was the one left out, the one that didn’t fit in in their family. It was just the three of them from the beginning. There was no father in the picture— Melkor had been a product of IVF with a sperm donor, and he’d never bothered to ask about Maya’s progenitor, but he imagined it had been the same. But Maya was their mother’s spitting image… Melkor was not. He destroyed the good reputation of their family name through his troublemaking years in the private school that had sung Maya’s praise, ruined Maya’s wedding pictures by turning up in full goth aesthetic… He was the source of countless rumours about them as he grew to do and say things that were not acceptable from the son of an upper class family. When he turned eighteen and left the country, the entirety of their social circle had breathed a collective sigh of relief. But even if his mother apologised for his behaviour and his words, even if he could get away with anything he wanted without repercussions— Maya was still the golden child, and Melkor the shadow to contrast with her shine. Even if he was the spoiled baby, that was just to make up for the fact that he didn’t get as much as she did. 

Melkor threw those thoughts away.

“You know what I think about those questions,” he warned without thinking, his sudden sour mood making the clouds around the peaks darken and flicker. 

Manwë lowered his head like a scolded puppy. 

“I know,” he agreed. 

“And what I think about asking Father to interrupt my privacy,” he continued, raising his voice. 

“Yes—”

“And yet you tried!”

Manwë raised his head, leaning forwards towards Melkor’s chair. 

“I am sorry, I truly am! I only asked because I love you”

Melkor had to pause, looking at him in silence for a moment. The clouds had darkened to nigh black, thunder flashing across them, and steady snow was now falling to the mountains and what lay below them. Manwë’s words were sincere, plain and naive.

What— 

What was he doing? Why had he said that and why had it felt do personal when he didn’t actually belong there?

Manwë was not his real brother and Eru was not truly his father… Could it be the echoes of Morgoth’s life somehow? 

The Music carefully chimed, as if asking if he was alright. 

He waved it away mentally and tried to not think about it.

“… Do not do it again,” he sighed, leaning back on his chair. 

His brother nodded meekly. 

Another silence extended over the gazebo, but the clouds had started to lessen and the snow was now a gentle fall instead of a blizzard. 

“Will you stay? At least for a couple years?”

Melkor wanted to go back to Utumno and see Mairon. He was actually kind of dying to meet him, couldn’t wait to see if all the fanart he’d paid for had done him justice. But also… Manwë was kind of pathetic in the way he looked at him hopefully, and he did like Irmo a lot…

“Just a few years,” he sighed. “But not too long. I cannot leave my realm alone”

Manwë visibly glowed, a halo of gold surrounding his head. 

“That’s wonderful!” He said, clapping lightly. “Oh, I think everyone will be so happy—!”

Right. Everyone, especially his wife. Melkor could bet Varda would be fuming. 

Internally, he sighed. 

Soon, Mairon. Very soon. 

As night fell and the moon rose in the sky Melkor retreated away from the palace. Manwë had wanted him to say with him, but he’d immediately ditched his brother in Irmo’s favour, who had been so radiantly happy that Manwë hadn’t found it in his heart to show how disappointed he was. 

Irmo’s realm was called Lórien, a thriving forest of tall trees and vast greenery, full of blooming flowers and a variety of hundreds of butterflies and insects that made a constant cacophony of white noise. It was colourful and loud, but Melkor found that he didn’t mind it too much… He had spent his entire teenage years listening to obnoxiously loud metal music, and this was a vast improvement. Deep into the forest the trees grew vastly taller and dense, and at its heart they opened pass for a huge trunk that towered above all others, golden leaves glittering under the moonlight. Flowering vines were wrapped around it, each bloom gigantic on its own, and as they walked up from the spiralling vine as a ramp he saw that they were inhabited by the Maiar that served Irmo. Most of said Maiar were in similar appearance to him or even more insect or flower-like, with bright colours and alien features. 

At the top of the trunk, below the canopy of golden leaves, rested the biggest flower where Irmo resided; it’s petals were a gradient from purple to yellow at the ends, and the inside was mostly hollow, allowing for furniture to decorate a decently sized house with everything he needed; a bed -which was another smaller flower-, a table or desk, a few chairs… Floating orbs of light illuminated the space, and the space between the petals of the flower allowed them to see outwards towards the forest and beyond. It was quite charming and homey, much more humble than Manwë’s golden palace and with more personality compared to Estë’s hospital. 

Melkor didn’t think Valar needed sleep usually, but Irmo was the Lord of Dreams, and the majority of his true realm resided inside of them. Therefore, he allowed himself to be tugged excitedly to the bed, which was admittedly the softest thing he had ever laid on, and closed his eyes at Irmo’s behest…

When he opened them again, he was sitting at the very top of a huge column above the sky, where he could glance down below to the entirety of Arda. There was light all around, a steady gold, yet it was not warm like the sun, it was instead cold and distant. It came from just below where he sat, and far north he could see the shape of another lamp shining blue. 

“I like to come here and see them,” Irmo’s sweet voice said at his side. 

He was swinging his feet back and forth over the edge, and in the dream his visage was different. More composed, more… wise. Ah— his mind was probably more stable within the dreaming. 

“I miss them sometimes. I miss Almaren”

Said land stood in the middle between both lands, vast green reminiscent of the Valinor he’d met in the waking world. 

“If you asked we’d have it rebuilt for you,” he said in a slightly teasing tone, as he imagined otherwise he might be sad. 

Irmo giggled softly. 

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t like it.” When he turned towards him his green eyes seemed to see far beneath Melkor’s skin and into the Song that composed him. Melkor didn’t know exactly what to say… “You don’t really like Valinor either”

“… No, I suppose not”

Melkor looked out towards the mostly barren lands that extended around Arda. The lamps had ensured life extended, but they couldn’t reach the entirety of the world. 

“I can appreciate the beauty of what is here, and in Valinor,” he paused for a moment, tilting his head. “And yet, I cannot see myself resting idly in it”

He liked the vision of his desolate icy mountains, the cold of Utumno that awaited him. Melkor had always been the strange one even back in his old life, and it would persist here… He was morbidly fascinated by the idea of the horrid creatures Morgoth had made, and also preferred that to the cute animals that inhabited the other Valar’s homes. 

“You are wild,” Irmo rested his head on his shoulder. “Even more than Arōmēz is”

“I suppose I am…” 

After a moment of comfortable silence Irmo pulled away and stood up. 

“Let’s go, I want to show you my favourite things that you weren’t here to see”

The world melted away in a flurry of colour and then they were standing with their ankles in shallow ocean water. Irmo was holding his hand, swinging it back and forth, and before the sandy shore trees extended out into wilderness. The sky was dimly lit with a faint light that came from Valinor, and the stars shone brightly above. 

“I was watching from the palace when they came,” Irmo said excitedly. “It was so beautiful”

The trees groaned and parted and a dream construction of Oromë came into light. He looked different then too, with antlers rather than horns and fur instead of feathers, but otherwise had not changed much. Behind him walked a large group of elves… The Music turned into a solemn string stanza; this had been the Great March where the elves had come to Valinor. They were fair people as per the novel had described, tired yet hopeful as they followed Oromë. 

Three of them walked forwards with the Vala, coming closer to Melkor and Irmo. Two of them were tall and fair, with golden and white hair, yet the third looked gaunt and hollow, pale face half obstructed by a wild mane of tight black curls. 

“Ingwë, Olwë and Finwë are the kings of their peoples,” Irmo explained. “They suffered greatly to bring their people here, there were many pains along the way… Finwë most of all has suffered a tragic fate. I visit his dreams sometimes… he mostly thinks of his first love and of his first wife”

“Are both gone?” He asked. 

“Elwë abandoned him. Míriel died”

Oh wow. Melkor wasn’t very empathetic, but that sounded rough. 

They turned and walked out towards the sea, which remained shallow for them in the dream. The stars moved in the sky, reordering themselves constantly, and the sea shone with a rainbow of colour reflecting off the rippling water. Irmo splashed around as they walked, never letting go of his hand, and eventually they came to be in Aman again, although not at the shore. The sea had turned into a river all of sudden and then they climbed up a soft hill where they had a good view; Yavannah stood with her hands forwards, guiding two little sprouts to grow. 

“Ibrîniðilpathânezel and Tulukhedelgorûs,” Irmo presented the trees, gesturing forwards with his free hand. 

The first one had started to sprout silver leaves, the second golden ones. As they twisted up into huge trees slowly they started to glow together, once again providing light to the world. It was admittedly very beautiful.

“So these are the famous trees…”

“Mhm! Aren’t they pretty?”

Irmo sat down on the grass and Melkor imitated him, to admire the view. Aside from the small slice of defined grassfields and the trees, everything else had started to melt away into colour and nonsense. 

“Yābhanāz tried her best to keep them alive for as long as she could, but in turn when she could not do more they died off very fast”

The light flickered, like a lightbulb about to burn out, and then the leaves started dying, branches sagging down and breaking off. Their trunks groaned under the weight, turning dark as they rotted in mere seconds. 

“She saved a fruit of each, which we used to make the sun and moon.” Irmo sighed, leaning his head on Melkor’s shoulder. “I wanted to keep them as they were, but she was very sad so we had to remove them”

“Mm, two rotting trees would not fit with the aesthetic of Aman,” Melkor commented dryly. 

“But they’re still pretty!”

He blinked and looked down at him. 

“You… think they are pretty?”

“Of course I do, look at them”

The silver tree had split in two, one half twisted and fallen to the ground, exposing its blackened insides. The golden one had remained upright, but it had lost all its leaves and flowers, a mere empty husk. Melkor liked it, it was sort of poetic, but…

“They would have fed life around them eventually,” Irmo added. “That is what your rot does”

… That much was true. 

“I suppose”

A faint chime came from the sky and Irmo pouted softly. It seemed that might be an indication that night was nigh over— very swiftly, in Melkor’s opinion, but then again perhaps time felt much faster for the Ainur. The rest of the landscape started to melt off and Irmo squeezed his hand. 

“You can open your eyes now”

Melkor did. He was staring at the soft sunlight coming into Irmo’s flower. 

It seemed he had been called too, as he went to talk to one of his Maiar, and he took the liberty to sit outside in one of the branches of the huge tree, watching the sun slowly bathe the rest of Valinor with her golden shimmer. After a moment of peace he looked at his clawed hand, which had left a slightly darker spot on the bark of the tree, and wondered if perhaps he ought to be a little more lenient to the life in Aman. His presence would probably make Irmo’s tree and the beautiful flowers of his home wilt much faster. 

“I’m back!” Irmo used his wings to flight up to sit with him, excitedly swinging his legs again. “Are you going to visit Mānawenūz-dearest now?”

“I might as well,” he shook his head. “At least so he does not start sulking”

“Oh, dearest-dearest will have a good time!” He nodded very fast. 

Melkor smiled and reached to pat Irmo’s head, who leaned into his touch adorably. 

“Can dearest-dearest make something for me? Please?” He batted his eyelashes pleadingly. 

A gift, huh? 

Melkor thought about it, but he didn’t know what exactly he could do that would also fit in Lórien. He placed his palms together, wondering if he was doing this right or about to make a fool of himself… The Music chimed in encouragement and he focused. 

A dark liquid like tar materialised between his hands as he pulled them apart and then moved, taking shape to form something new. It wasn’t as easy as it looked, he had to focus as much as he had when he crafted his new fána, thinking about the right places to place organs and body parts. This was his first time, and thus he wasn’t completely surprised that the result wasn’t as good as what he’d initially invisioned— In his palm now rested a scarab, black and smooth for the most part, except for a light faint pattern of emerald green on its head. He frowned, mere seconds away from smashing it in his hand, but Irmo didn’t see his disappointment with his own creation. 

He squealed in delight, grabbing it and holding it in both hands with care. His eyes were sparkling and his wings fluttered, evidently delighted to such degree that Melkor was a bit taken aback. 

“It’s perfect!”

Ah. 

Well, Irmo might be the only person to be so happy to have a scarab the size of a rat. 

“I will keep it forever,” he declared, “with all the other gifts dearest-dearest gave me”

Had Morgoth given him many before? The Music gave him another answer, the vision of other insects that resided in Lórien. 

Oh, so Morgoth had been nice to Irmo after all. Maybe he wasn’t as big of an asshole? It was still hard to tell. The Music didn't offer any answers about it either.

"I'll come see you again before I leave," he promised.

"With more gifts?" Irmo asked excitedly.

Melkor couldn't help but laugh. His million voices echoed around them in a sinister manner.

"We will see about that"

Manwë was an... interesting character. He was a competent king, just and well grounded, and he certainly had done a good enough job of keeping the Valar in check nearly all by himself. His Maiar liked him, as did the Firstborn, and had won his brethren's and Father's respect. However. However... Why the fuck did nobody warn him that he was a clingy motherfucker whenever Melkor was within sight!? The second he was present the persona of a king was gone, replaced instead with a whiny idiot who wanted to have all his undivided attention. It was "Mbelekhōrōz this", "Mbelekhōrōz that"— Couldn't Mbelekhōrōz have a fucking break!? Oh and that wasn't even getting into the weird vibe of his weird wife, who seemed to hate his guts and wouldn't stop glaring at him! 

Even running off and away from their stupid palace was a futile effort because that meant being in the realm of any of the other Valar, and none of them seemed capable of behaving normally, except Irmo who could of course do no wrong. Estë was far too busy to entertain him, and he had quickly learnt too that she would not stop asking questions about the particular details of whatever creatures Morgoth had made— Melkor didn't even know half of them existed, how would he know about their particular inner workings? Then Nienna and Námo, they took their jobs far too seriously and were absolutely no fun at all, even though Námo definitely made for an interesting target of his incessant questioning and childish teasing. He had even learnt that the quiet woman from dinner was actually Vairë, his wife of all things, and whom never spoke to anyone at all unless they wanted to hear a long insane tirade about embroidery techniques and the visions that she portrayed in her tapestries. Honestly, he didn't know why Irmo was regarded as the least sound one, because she was definitely way crazier. 

Ulmo was even more antisocial than he was and he didn't even bother trying to open that can of worms, and Tulkas' dislike of him was very much mutual. That last one however had been acting very strange whenever he was around, turning away with a red face every time they ran into each other, and half of the time Melkor hadn't even tried to bait him. He figured Yavanna and Aulë would rather not see him around, and so he decided to give a try to Oromë instead. 

Oromë was alright, he supposed. Never shut up about his husband, that man, but said husband was at least also entertaining. Melkor had been very surprised when he was introduced to note that the elf was very young indeed, with a fair face and piercing green eyes, his long straight white hair glowing like starlight thanks to the light Oromë shared with him; it bled out onto his freckles too, tiny white specs on his brown skin, and on the tattoos he had, markings that all the Hunters wore. His name was Tyelkormo, and he was a wicked sharp thing with an equally sharp tongue, and absolutely no qualms about talking to the Ainur as if they were his equals, capable of even holding Melkor's stare head on. In turn he couldn't help but be utterly fascinated... Really! In the book it had been explicitly mentioned that the Children were at least weary or intimidated by their higher presence, and yet this one wasn't! The other Hunters certainly were, except for a dark skinned girl who was twice as brazen. 

Vána had met them in the deep forest a few weeks after Melkor joined the Hunt, and sat next to him as they watched the pair of fearless elves play with the hounds.

"Those are Finwë's grandchildren," she had explained finally, "Tyelkormo is the third son of the Crown Prince, and Irissë the daughter of the second Prince"

"How many are there?" He had inquired, amused. "Are they like these?"

She had let out a soft snort.

"I've heard from Irissë that each of Tyelkormo's six brothers is more intense than the last. He says the same about her and her three brothers. The last of Finwë's sons has three sons and a daughter as well. They are one interesting family indeed, I believe you would like Fëanáro"

Hmm... 

"Would that be the Crown Prince?"

"Correct"

Well, Melkor was indeed intrigued. Maybe he would take a look at this prince if he found the time.

After that they travelled up to Oromë's mansions, which he shared with Vána, his favourite not-sister. Nessa was waiting for them there, receiving them with a smile and a feast prepared for the hungry feral things that followed Oromë around -that is, his Maiar and elven vassals. 

"How are you finding your stay?" Nessa had asked him later, as the rowdy bunch had their party.

Vána and Nessa had sat him on a pile of furs and cushions by a roaring fire, where they could have a view of the banquet. Nessa had begged to do his hair, which he had allowed with a roll of his eyes, so she was sat behind him, brushing his long void hair with a wooden hairbrush. 

"It has been good enough," he said with a huff.

Both of them let out a laugh, not taking him very seriously. 

"Everyone was excited to see you," Vána nudged his knee with her elbow. "Mānawenūz especially so"

"He's clingy, of course he would be," he replied with harmless snark.

They should not be that excited to see him, it was no big deal.

"It is the truth!"

Hm...

"Surely I was in not such a foul mood the last time..."

Manwë had been anxious about asking, and so far everyone had avoided mentioning it with delicate sensibility. Only Irmo had briefly touched upon the topic when he showed him the dreams, but he had promptly changed topics. 

"It snowed for almost a century straight and Ulmo's waters turned to solid ice for miles," Nessa said plainly.

"Ah." Well apparently it was that bad. And after a beat of silence he added: "Your husband is infuriating"

Nessa let out a snort and both of them relaxed.

"He can be"

Her fingers started to twist his hair into braids. The silky smooth strands were strange to the touch, truly like a void of no space, so he had to admire her skill in being able to style it. He doubted it would show when it absorbed all light, but he supposed it was the thought that counted.

"He's been behaving like a lunatic recently too"

Vána looked back to exchange a look with Nessa and he narrowed his eyes.

"What?" 

"I think he's figuring some things out," Vána answered mysteriously.

That made absolutely no sense.

"Figuring what?"

Nessa finished braiding down his back and Vána made a small tie out of vines, which she used to tie off the long braid.

"Your new fána"

That made even less sense. Why would his physical shape—?

...

Wait…

Did he find him physically attractive? Was that it?

"Oh, come on Mbelekhōrōz!" Nessa laughed. "You cannot be that blind, they are all equally stricken. Even Námo has chosen to entertain you for far longer than usual"

What!?

"That— It can't—"

"Arōmēz!" Vána called. Across the room the horned Hunter turned to look at them, slit pupils narrowing. "Do you think Mbelekhōrōz...!"

He interrupted her before she finished.

"I am a married man now, Vānāz!" He knocked back his tankard of ale, a fanged grin stretching across his face. "But I would otherwise!"

Vána nodded, satisfied.

"See?"

Melkor had to be grateful that he was quite incapable of blushing.

"You have that terrible habit of tugging at people's braids whenever you want attention. Tulukhastāz does it even worse," Nessa added between giggles.

Melkor did no such thing—

"They already fight for your attention constantly, too. Mānawenūz deeply resents it"

“My brother whines for everything,” he said automatically. 

“You always do spend the most time with Irubōz,” Vána smiled. 

“And why would I not?”

They both laughed but he just rolled his eyes again. 

They were only poking fun, surely. There was absolutely no way that… No, it was impossible. 

“You cannot blame us for finding you…. fascinating, let’s say.” Vána plucked out a petal from her dress and transformed it into a full flower that she put behind his ear. Even without seeing it he could feel it instantly being covered in frost, but that did not deter her from making more and sharing them over with Nessa to decorate his braided hair. “We know so little of your purpose. You keep to yourself and never open your heart to us”

From what Melkor could guess… Maybe Morgoth had just been very used to being alone, if he truly was so much older than all of them. Perhaps he didn’t realise how much his ‘family’ wanted him around. That thought— it felt like it struck something very personal inside him. He wasn’t sure he liked it one bit. 

In the time he had spent there he had tried his best to not think of what he’d left behind in his other life. What use was there in crying? Lamenting would not magically help him see his mother and sister again. Besides, it’s not like they were ever close. Their lives would not change very drastically… Just like Morgoth’s family wouldn’t notice he had been replaced. Melkor sighed, leaning back against the cushions. 

“There is very little to say that would be of interest to any of you”

The Hunters’ songs picked up in volume and rowdiness, shadows flickering in the darkening room as they danced wildly in a flurry of colour.

“Somehow,” Nessa said as she rested her chin on his shoulder, “I very much doubt that is true”

The Music filled his head endlessly, speaking of the deep layers of manually crafted rock that were the foundation of the world, of the crisp cold air of the atmosphere, of warm beaches and dense forests. It whispered the secrets of their making and the secrets to their undoing. He laid sprawled on the top of Manwë’s mountain, his dark hair spread around him as if swallowing the rocks and the weeds that grew in their cracks, and he didn’t move for almost ten years. How… strange it was, to listen to it, and to feel the memories it poured into his brain. The voices that sang that chorus… those had been directed by Melkor— by Morgoth’s hand. He had stood before them at the front of their ranks and guided them with his voice at his brother’s side, while their Father sat above them watching with a smile. He could not picture him even in those memories, but he thought he could see the faint shape of his lips curving in a mass of blinding light. 

When he opened his eyes he didn’t feel any more ready to tackle this entire mess. He didn’t think he could face the plot of that novel and come out of it a winner— not when everything in this world made no sense. He was lost, he didn’t understand why things would go down the way they were written, he didn’t understand Morgoth nor the purpose he was supposed to follow. How could he even play the right cards if he couldn’t even see the hand he was dealt? It was confusing and maddening. 

He didn’t know what to do, and he didn’t know how to help Mairon. 

Fuck, what was he supposed to do about Mairon?

Melkor sat up, rubbing his temples. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon. 

“What the fuck should I do…”

The Music was calm and peaceful, as if trying to say ‘everything is alright’. 

Well! Nothing was fucking alright!

Melkor took a deep breath and stood up, facing Eastwards. Far away, the shores of Middle Earth awaited. 

Sulking around wouldn’t help. He would follow the plan and succeed. 

The Music seemed to momentarily pause before it resumed.

What plan, it asked?

Very easy. The plan was just to; fuck it, we ball. 

Chapter Text

Saying goodbye was much less trouble than he had expected. Manwë had clung to him, of course, but what took the most time was to pry Irmo and Melkor apart, which was done with a lot of sweet talking from Estë’s part and a whole lot of stiffled giggling from Nessa. 

It was… Well. Melkor just hadn’t expected to feel so weird about leaving Aman. This was not his world and they were not his family, it just— yeah. He didn’t want to dwell on it.

He had to turn away to fully snuff out any doubts, mentally waving off The Music’s cheeky melody, and then he took the shape of a storm to cross the ocean, swiftly leaving behind the golden sands of the shore and the bright green of Valinor. 

His arrival in Middle Earth brought down a downpour of rain and ice as he crossed, the first storm of a dry summer and the first warning of a brutal winter to come. Unlike the sparkling cities of Valinor Beleriand was mostly green and wild. Few cities he saw on his way, but he did not stop to pay a close eye to them, instead flying further North to the high mountains. Later he might sate his curiosity.

Utumno lay behind a mountain range that acted as a solid wall, impossible to cross for the weak bodies of the Children. The air at the very top of them was unbreathable for mortals, but the wall itself was not the highest point. Snow covered the barren landscape where little could survive, and past the wall a monstrous peak rose in jagged points, black stone walls untouched by the white mantle that covered everything else. His storm clouds hovered above it, bringing forth a deadly blizzard that signalled his arrival. 

The storm clouds came down on the highest point in a spiral of lightning and he reformed his fána once again, taking in a deep breath as he stretched his back to face the dark sky. The air stabbed painfully at his lungs and he smiled to himself, rolling his shoulders as a black fur coat materialised around his body. He was not cold, but might as well play into the aesthetic.

Ah, home at last!

A steep precarious set of stairs was carved into the stone, leading down into a pitch black cavern, and his steps echoed into it along with the sound of his tail dragging behind. A trail of frost was left as a mark of his presence for the first few steps, but he consciously let it fade afterwards since he didn’t please having a slippery stairwell. The clammor of drums and howls slowly became audible as he continued descending, a celebration no doubt spurred by his return, and when at last he touched the last step he was being waited on by one of his vassals. 

The figure before him was a huge cat of midnight fur, sat patiently before him. Melkor, fortunately, knew who this was! 

“Tevildo-meoita,” he greeted him, tilting his head in curiosity. He had always wondered when reading if the Maia was truly fully a cat or only cat-like… His question had been answered at last. 

“My Lord,” the cat bowed his head. Melkor suppressed a smile; it was a bit funny to hear a person’s voice coming from an animal. “Your return has been long awaited”

Well, Melkor had spent many years away without realising.

He nodded and started to walk down the dark hallway. A few pale torches lit the way down there, but not nearly enough to dispel the shadows permanently. The halls were not warm, but the fact that there were no windows helped in keeping the freezing air outside at the very least. 

“So I would hope. How have things faired in my absence?”

He had absolutely no idea of which point in the timeline he was on. Deep inside he was praying to not hear any bad news. 

Just tell him everything was fine, please!

“The new tunnels dig deep and productivity moves as expected”

A very diplomatic non answer. 

Melkor stilled and looked down at the cat, narrowing his eyes. 

“Speak plainly. You do not want me to find about any problems on my own”

Tevildo at least had the decency to bow his head shamefully. 

“It has only been the usual fighting, M’Lord. Arguments and brawls and insults—”

Melkor let out a loud exasperated sigh and kept walking, The Music shifting to what he imagined was the equivalent of a laugh. 

“Summon everyone to the throne room at once”

The cat bowed down. 

“Yes, sire”

Seriously, he had just arrived and he had to deal with this! And even worse, he still didn’t know what was going on plot-wise. 

Now, where even was his fucking throne room?

The Music shifted and a little bell rang ahead in one of the dark corners. With a soft subtle sigh of relief he followed the guidance down the labyrinth of stone. Every hallway looked the same, so he seriously hoped he would not get lost or he’d never be able to look anyone in the face again.

The fortress itself was carved downwards, but the important parts and Melkor’s chambers should be in the upper side of the mountain, so it was not a very long trip to the giant doors that led into the throne room in question. 

Contrary to Manwë’s shiny palace his own was dark and gloomy. The raw stone floor had no decorations and the tall walls almost seemed carved at by giant claws. At the end of the very large room there was a tall throne of black iron atop a dais. It was the only corner that was furnished in any way, with a richly embroidered red carpet covering it, and luxurious furs that rested on the throne to make it a comfortable seat. Unlike the tunnels it was better lit too, with roaring braziers lining the sides of the walls. 

Melkor sat down and gleefully found that it was perfectly suited for his size, and didn’t inconvenience his tail too much either which was appreciated. A purr -which sounded more like a rumble- echoed from his chest as he made himself comfortable, resting one of his legs up on the seat. 

He could definitely get used to this…

The heavy doors opened shortly after, slowly and painstakingly pushed open by a pair of huge trolls. Was it truly that heavy? Melkor had shoved it open without issue!

His new vassals filed inside and lined up before his throne, bowing and kneeling before him to pay their proper respects, and he leaned forwards slightly to take a good look, waving his hand to indicate they could stand up. To his fascination, they all moved swiftly to what he imagined were their usual places. 

A huge wolf laid at his feet, which he recognised as Draugluin, the very first werewolf said to have been made by Melkor, and the cats sat elegantly at the side of the dais. 

Tevildo and his three servants -Miaulë, Oikeroi and Umuiyan- were the keepers of his household, the only ones allowed in Morgoth’s chambers without the need of requesting an audience and those who managed the lesser servants. They were fiercely loyal and had been by his side for the longest time out of all his servants, if he remembered correctly. Once Morgoth had started to be even more cruel they had no reservations in following his instructions to do terrible things. Melkor thought he could vaguely recall a story about an elven princess? Something along those lines. 

The only other that dared approach had the appearance of a beautiful young man. His long pale blond wavy hair spilled down his shoulders like a shroud, framing a delicate face. He wore a shade of deep maroon, and he knelt at Melkor’s feet to kiss his hand. If he was not mistaken, this was Fankil, who had carried Morgoth’s favour all throughout Mairon’s stay in Utumno. He was deeply obsessed with Morgoth, and had served as a dark reflection of Mairon through the book. Some of the haters might even say he was a prediction of what Mairon would become at the end, but Melkor maintained his delusional opposite stance. 

“This humble servant welcomes our Lord home,” he said, voice sweet, looking at him through his eyelashes. 

Melkor grasped at his chin with his clawed fingers, guiding him to look up. If only he wasn’t such an irritating character, he might’ve been very pleased to find such a pretty face at his feet. 

“Such a nice welcome it has been, that I have had to summon you myself,” he replied, raising a brow.

Without waiting for an answer he let go and raised his eyes to the other Maiar. 

First ahead was of course that who they called Gothmog, the Lord of the Valaraukar and first lieutenant under his charge. He was a huge figure of burning hot metal and flame, and a twisted crown of black horns. With him was his second in charge, Lungorthin, who was smaller and less impressive so, but still one of the strongest among their ranks. There were many other Valaraukar, but none important enough to find themselves up in the throne room often. 

“Well then? ‘Arguments and brawls’?” 

“Your vassals grew restless in your absence, My Lord,” he said. His voice was gravely and deep. “The uruk and the kaukareldar—”

“What use do you serve me as my lieutenant if you cannot keep them in line?” He interrupted, letting out an exasperated breath. “Must I be behind every shadow for the creatures in this fortress to behave?”

The uruk, the orcs, had been of Morgoth’s first creations. Ugly little things that didn’t like the light and preferred rotten things. The kaukareldar on the other hand… Melkor knew there were few of them, hard to breed as they were, fair imitations of the Firstborn but far colder and mischievous. Both were equally brutal, and both despised each other. Seeing as they were equally at the bottom of the hierarchy in Utumno, it came to no surprise. 

“My Lord—”

“Do not pretend that your ilk has been a good role model either, I can sense how many tunnels have collapsed at the Valaraukar’s hands”

Gothmog, quite wisely, shut his mouth. 

Honestly! They were like little children, brawling inside.

“You will put them to work to repair it”

“Yes, My Lord”

“And the next time, they will be sent out on the peaks of the mountains!”

“Of course, My Lord”

Let them all freeze in the fucking cold for behaving like rowdy teenagers…

Melkor rubbed at the bridge of his nose and Fankil moved quickly to stand next to the throne to massage his shoulders. He let him be for now, it helped with the tension. 

“Anything else?”

As Gothmog started to talk steadily in his report, Melkor ended up tuning him out entirely as it was far too boring. The Music itself hadn’t pitched in at all either, so he figured none of this was of any consequence. Ugh, why had nobody told him that managing an entire realm was not easy? He was throwing these responsibilities down on all of them without a doubt. He was a god after all, couldn’t he just enjoy the fruits of their labour without lifting a finger? He was housing them and keeping them alive, that should be enough! 

Oh, as for the rest of the court— Langon and Thuringwethil were not present there… Had they not reached such high ranks yet? Or were they performing another duty somewhere else? They were not too relevant for the plot either way, he would worry later should the need arise.

But as for who he really wanted to see… Hmm…

Something flickered at the edge of his awareness and he narrowed his eyes as Gothmog finished. 

“Kosomot”

“Sire?”

“Open the door”

Gothmog and Lungorthin exchanged a look but did not hesitate to walk back all the way to the doors, which they opened with far more ease than the trolls outside. 

Melkor heard a soft gasp and a strangled yelp before Gothmog reached out faster than what he looked he could move, taking hold of the figure and dragging it inside as Lungorthin closed the door behind them. The smaller figure kicked and struggled, but ultimately fell motionless as they approached the throne, and didn’t try to get up when they were thrown at the front. 

“What do we have here… Lift your head”

The Maia slowly pushed themselves up on their arms and looked up slightly between their blond hair, intense ember eyes standing out behind the curtain. 

Melkor almost went breathless. 

Nothing else in that room mattered anymore.

“Stand up”

None ot the others helped as he rose to his feet, brushing off his dirty and ragged robe. A burning ëala within him pressed so tightly against his bound form that he glowed as if about to burst, not unlike a metal ingot about to melt, black and purple bruises covering his exposed arms. His hair as said before was blond, spilling down his back and curling at the ends, flickering like candlelight. His face was bruised as well, but even with said wounds he was stunningly beautiful. His eyes lowered, staring at the carpet silently. 

“Does anyone want to explain this?” He asked to the court at large. 

Gothmog cleared his throat. It was an oddly funny thing to see from a hulking creature such as him. 

“This one is from the last batch, My Lord, a forge spirit”

…

“And why, pray tell, was he beaten?”

Gothmog blinked, and momentarily glanced down at the silent figure. 

“His superiors have reported repeated insubordination, sire”

Repeated insubordination, he said. 

Melkor remembered this part! They were indeed near the start of the book! And that meant he knew the actual truth of what had happened. Oh, this was a good thing, a very good thing.

“You. Tell me what happened,” he ordered. 

Those intense eyes rose again, flickered to the side quickly, and then lowered again. 

“… I didn’t…” but he trailed off then. 

“I will not repeat myself again”

There was another short, tense silence. 

“… This lowly one has always been better than the other workers. The reports aren’t true.” He was blunt, honest, didn’t pull back. 

The hands on Melkor’s shoulders tensed, dug deeper into his flesh. Little did their owner know, unlike Morgoth, Melkor had chosen to have a complete nervous system and he could perfectly feel it.

Melkor let out a laugh, undeniably amused.

This was just getting too good.

“Is that so? Must I assume that is why you were beaten?”

“Sometimes,” he said.

“Sometimes!” He laughed again. 

The others squirmed, anxious. They could hardly be blamed, Morgoth had been said to be unpredictable at his best. 

“Go on, go on”

“I proposed a new plan to increase productivity. It was not well received”

Melkor nodded, resting his chin on his knuckles, leaning over the side of his throne. 

“And that was the reason you were punished?”

“I’m told I am unbearably arrogant and deserve to be knocked down”

Oh, this was just incredible. His grin had extended across his face and he knew his eyes probably reflected his amusement. 

“And who ‘knocked you down’?”

His eyes flickered again and Melkor tapped his claws against the armrest of his throne.

“Does it have to do with the way you have been staring at Fankil?”

It happened fast. The hands on his shoulders pulled back and Fankil let out a frightened squeal as Draugluin jumped on top of him and closed his jaw around the back of his neck, dragging him back to the rough stone floor before the entire court. Fankil flailed desperately, his blood trickling down to the ground— Melkor pressed his tongue against his fangs and saw how Lungorthin licked his lips hungrily from the corner of his eye. 

“Everything I have ever done has been for you, My Lord!” Fankil begged, his pretty hand reaching out pathetically. 

“For me?” Melkor’s tail swayed lazily, slowly, from side to side. Despite being out of his reach, the sight of the sharp spikes made him shake and tremble. “Taking it upon yourself to make decisions in my court, handing out punishments in my name, ordering my vassals around— you did that for me?”

Wisely, he did not answer. 

Ah, what a mess…

“Let me be extremely clear… The only one who gives orders here is me. And in my absence, Kosomot. Drill that into your empty, pretty head”

Draugluin dropped him in a bloody heap on the ground, and he went back to sitting at his side. Melkor stroked his head calmly, looking down at Fankil with disinterest. Honestly, the audacity of some people…

“Remind me, Kosomot; how does one win my favour in this realm?”

Gothmog straightened immediately. 

“By merit, sire”

“Yes, that is correct. What have you done to deserve my favour above all others?”

Fankil sobbed silently, forehead pressed to the icy cold ground, and did not say anything. 

“Since you were so eager to hand out punishments, it would only be fair that your target is the one to decide yours, isn’t it?”

Melkor looked down at the silent beaten Maia, who stayed quiet for another moment. 

He had read the novel, he knew how his mind worked, what he was considering. Melkor could bet he was thinking about every outcome and every possibility. Maybe he would even think about if this was a trap, another mind game designed to make him fail. He had to actively suppress a grin, spine tingling in excitement. 

“… I do not wish to hand out any punishments,” he said at last, bowing his head until his pale hair obscured his face. “It would not soothe my aches in any way”

Perfectly humble, and perfectly infuriating to Fankil, if the way his fist clenched against the ground was any indication. Melkor was absolutely delighted. 

“Mm…”

They all waited anxiously for his decision, but he enjoyed dragging it out for another moment. 

“You were a Maia of Aulë, were you not?”

His sudden twist in topic confused everyone, but he nodded slowly. 

“Yes… I was the best of his smiths”

“Good, then.” Melkor smirked. “Congratulations, you are now in charge of the forges. And to make sure this does not repeat, you will report directly to me, is that clear?”

Those big eyes stared at him in shock before he bowed again, falling to his knees. 

“Yes, I— Thank you, Master”

Melkor stood up, Draugluin at his heel. 

“As for you, Fankil… It seems to me that you need a lesson in humility. If you wish to sit in my court again, you will work for it. Starting from working in the forges, of course”

Fankil trembled, half in distress and half in silent rage.

“Yes, My Lord…” he whimpered. 

“Take him away,” he gestured vaguely with his hand as he turned away. After there was movement at his back he looked over his shoulder: “Lungorthin, no”

The Valarauko sighed dejectedly and pulled his tongue back into his mouth from where he had licked at Fankil’s mauled shoulder. He turned away with the pale haired man under his arm and left the room, leaving the slowly freezing crimson puddle as the only evidence of Fankil’s presence. 

Eru, what a mess… And just as he arrived too. 

But at least one crisis was averted— The protagonist was safe and he had intervened just in time. He had already been through some hardships, but those could still be framed under Morgoth’s strict and unyielding rules. At the back of his head The Music was playing a happy tune.

“Um… My Lord?” Gothmog called. 

He faced them again and took a look at the still kneeling Maia. 

“Stand up. What is your name?”

He pushed himself up, looking up through his eyelashes hesitantly. 

“Mayazōnōz,” he said quietly. 

Melkor had to be grateful that his acting skills were not too bad, because inside he could hardly contain himself. 

“You have earned yourself some rest, Mayazōnōz. Kosomot, make sure he is comfortable in a new room befitting of his position”

The Valarauko bowed down to him. 

“Yes, My Lord”

“I will strive to earn this honour you have bestowed upon me, Master,” Mairon said, bowing. 

“Mm, I would hope so. You are dismissed”

Melkor’s eyes were trained on them as the doors of the throne room were slowly pulled closed by the trolls and that flame-like hair was out of his sight. 

His name tasted utterly sweet on his tongue. 

His chambers were near the top of the mountain, behind a door just as huge and ornate as those which led to the throne room. They opened soundlessly with a flick of his fingers, and he set out to map them out with curiosity. The antechamber was nigh barren, with a simple rug thrown on the floor, but his bedroom was much nicer as he was relieved to find. 

Silk curtains hung along the wall to give it a softer look, and there was even a proper fireplace, although it was cold and frozen at the moment. A table, a chaise and a couch were set before said fireplace, along with an armchair for his comfort, and opposite to that wall a vanity with a polished silver mirror. The bed stood opposite to the door, a huge slab of stone with a thick mattress on top, multiple layers of fine bedsheets, and a pile of far more pillows that were necessary. The bed had a canopy as well, made of translucent gauze-like fabric, to add another touch of unnecessary but well appreciated luxury. 

Melkor hadn’t explored all of it after all, but he let himself drop backwards onto the bed and sighed in contentment, burying himself on his pillows. This was definitely something he could get used to… He kicked off his shoes and made himself comfortable, his tail curling around his middle and his arms finding their way around a particularly squishy pillow. 

“Umuiyan”

“Yes, M’Lord?”

“Fireplace,” he said through a yawn. 

“As you wish, sire. Do you wish to consume any food or drink?”

“Mm… maybe some wine”

The cat trotted away and he closed his eyes for a very well deserved rest, with The Music echoing faintly in the background, very considerate of his napping mood.

In the next hour he was vaguely aware of the movement of servants back and forth as they sparked a good fire and set a cup and a bottle of wine in his nightstand. Other than that they let him be without disturbance, and he was able to have a very good rest with only the faintest murmur of noise deep in the bowels of the mountain. 

Yes, Valar needed no sleep, and they needed no food, but why should he not delight in a simple pleasure such as this?

By the time he stretched his limbs lazily and rolled over to his stomach the wine bottle had frozen entirely, although the fire had been kept alive. He sat up and fetched it, melting it off so he could finally have a taste. It wasn’t bad at all, he had to admit… perhaps a bit too sour, but enjoyable nonetheless. He drank it all still half sprawled on his bed before he decided to finally get up and finish his snooping. 

One of the doors off his bedroom was smaller, leading to a slim corridor, which he figured was for the servants. Another led to the bathroom, a huge spacious room with a deep natural pool; water sprouted from the wall and filled up a basin that glowed from within with the crystals at the bottom, and then flowed down a small opening to continue its way downstream. 

The other rooms must lead to a study and his wardrobe then, but he once again was completely distracted.

He discarded his coat and tunic, stepping down into the pool, and sighed contently as he submerged up to his chin. It was freezing cold, numbing his muscles and digging into his skin with the sensation of tiny needles, but he stayed there and enjoyed it for a very long time. When he opened his eyes, a small creature was standing at the edge of the pool. 

It was barely tall enough to reach his knees if he were to stand up, with a small stout body covered in a simple grey mantle. Their head and face had the vague resemblance of a toad, although their skin was a tone closer to blue rather than green. They had gathered his discarded clothing and were waiting with a towel to offer. 

Melkor stood up and climbed out with a sigh, accepting the towel to dry himself up. His hair, he noted, did not seem to be capable of being wet. That was certainly convenient.

“Dinner is ready for you, sire,” the little creature said. 

“Mm, thank you”

He didn’t bother to cover his nudity as he walked back into the main room, throwing another door open at random— it was indeed a wardrobe, which he was disappointed to note was not very appealing. Morgoth’s choice of clothing was unflattering and with no style, loose robes with little decoration or detail. They would probably look horrendous on him, and no doubt would have looked terrible even on the awkward body he had woken up in. He turned his nose up at them and left the wardrobe after grabbing another fur coat to wrap around his shoulders for at least some modesty. 

The meal had been set on the table by the fireplace, a full course with a roasted bird of some kind, and he curled up on his armchair to enjoy it. He was barely halfway through when Tevildo appeared at the door.

“Mayazōnōz asks for an audience, sire”

Melkor swallowed a mouthful of warm bread. 

“So soon?”

“You slept for fifty years, sire”

Oh. 

Oops. 

“Let him in”

The Music ‘laughed’ at him and he mentally gave it the middle finger. 

The main doors opened and closed, and a few seconds later Mairon pushed the bedroom door open all the way to step in. 

Melkor’s first thought was that he… looked much much better now. 

Oh, don’t get him wrong, Mairon had been utterly ravishing and beautiful even when beaten and bruised, but now?

His flaming hair had adopted a brighter orange hue, pulled back with a simple brooch at the back of his head, and his new robes were red and black, elegant but simple and sturdy as to work in the forges. Now all clean and standing tall Melkor could see that his hands were tinted black, with glowing red markings almost like tattoos, which were nearly lost entirely in his glowing arms, but became more visible again at his neck and face, thin and elegant lines following a symmetrical pattern and culminating on his forehead in the shape of a star. His eyes were truly captivating, nearly the same colour of his hair, framed by long eyelashes and a precise line of kohl. He inclined himself respectfully as soon as he walked in.

“Master,” he said in a soft voice. 

Ugh, he truly was the protagonist! So fucking pretty! 

Melkor set aside his plate momentarily. 

“Mayazōnōz,” he said in turn, his smooth voice not giving away his internal energy. “Here to report?”

“Yes, Master”

Mairon walked forwards and offered a thick stack of well organised papers with another flourish. Melkor internally grimaced as he took them, squinting down at the elegant handwriting.

It was… very thorough. 

Tevildo took it upon himself to jump on the arm of his chair, sitting comfortably. 

“Production in the forges has increased by 200% during your nap, sire,” he informed, looking well pleased with Mairon. “I am impressed with his leadership skills”

Huh, look at that. 

Melkor already knew Mairon was capable of it, sure, but it was great to see him succeed so quickly. It had only been fifty years and he was already outshining nearly everyone around him! And Melkor hadn’t even done anything of particular significance to help! 

“Has Fankil given you any trouble?” He asked, flipping through the pages. 

“Minor disagreements, Master,” Mairon was truthful and didn’t bother to hide it. “He does not find it easy to follow my lead”

Not surprising at all… He had gone from being his favourite to being near the bottom of the food chain as far as the Maiar rankings were concerned. Melkor should maybe have a talk with him at some point.

“And how do you find the job?”

Mairon squirmed slightly and Melkor raised his head, arching a brow. 

“… It is… not complicated”

So he was bored. 

Tevildo let out an amused huff and Melkor hid a smile behind the report, eyes curving into half moons. Mairon’s cheeks turned slightly darker, his eyes flickering into a pink-ish red momentarily, and he lowered his head. 

“I’m sure Tevildo will have an odd job or two for you to fulfill whenever your tasks are not complicated. Matter of fact, before I forget—” He turned towards the cat. “I tire of my wardrobe. I want new clothes, all of them”

The cat did not find this surprising, and he bowed his head as he jumped down to the ground. Despite the nonchalant attitude his ëala spiked with well conceived annoyance. He hid another smile.

“As you wish, sire. Should we place an order from Aman?”

Melkor tapped his chin with the papers. 

“Mm… If we truly must… Do we not have anyone at hand that can do it?”

“No, sire”

“Oh well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” he waved away lightly. Another spike of irritation for his amusement. “Thank you for the report, Mayazōnōz. You are both dismissed”

“Yes, Master”

Melkor sighed, looking down at the report once he was all alone. 

He had so much to catch up with…

Who would have thought being a scummy villain would involve so much endless paperwork!? Melkor would like to file a complaint! He was not warned about this! 

He wanted to bang his head on a wall, this was not going anywhere!

This was all the book’s fault! And also that fucking train’s fault! 

Utumno was a complete and utter mess. 

There were absolutely no maps for the tunnels, or at least none had been made in ages, since the last one was of the shiny and new fortress before it started expanding, and there was also no census of how many inhabitants there were, of what type and job, absolutely nothing! Every branch worked independently of each other for everything, with separate hierarchies, which in theory sounded good, except that meant that they did not have any communication between them and were often at odds. A lot of those needed to work together such as the quarry with the builders, but all their tasks were being fulfilled independently and out of order, which slowed down both groups equally. Not to mention, all of those reported separately too, and never had meetings to discuss anything!

Even as astronomically boring as Mairon’s report was, it was precise and organised. He had reformed the forges and implemented a system to avoid those exact mistakes. No wonder production had increased dramatically! Everyone else was stuck in an endless loop of stupidity!

His creations were not helping either. There was a whole subsection of Utumno where the majority of the population lived, the uruks and the kaukareldar mainly. As the working class they followed the guidance of the Maiar but they also had their own hierarchy beneath the Ainur and their own disputes that needed solving. 

It just didn’t end.

Tevildo certainly managed a lot of it, as did Gothmog, but the current process was far too convoluted and nonsensical that it was hardly possible to do more. 

Maybe he should’ve just stayed in Aman. 

He should run off back to his clingy brother and let them burn, he was so not ready for this. 

The more he looked into it the worse the mess got. 

He needed a fucking break. 

The Music metaphorically poked at him— it had only been a couple days since he started to look into the endless pile of papers. 

But that was more than enough to deserve a break!

“My Lord, a Void beast was spotted recently in Hithlum”

Melkor looked down at Tevildo, confused. 

… What?

This was how he found out that apparently Morgoth used to take his role in Middle Earth seriously enough to offer a level of protection to mortals!??? 

It wasn’t like he helped or at least he didn’t do it often, but once in a while there were troubles that mortals could not deal with. Plenty of dangerous beasts slumbered beneath Arda and sometimes resurfaced, and that was the most common issue to deal with. In Aman such thing was seen as well, but Oromë and his Hunt dealt with the threats— in Middle Earth Morgoth was the only Vala, so it naturally fell upon his shoulders and it was now Melkor’s problem. 

This… MADE ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE!

In the book Morgoth had destroyed elven cities, tortured them for fun, laid waste to Beleriand and Middle Earth at large! 

WHY WAS THIS MORGOTH DOING GOOD DEEDS??? WHO WAS THIS??? WHY WAS THE SCUM VILLAIN LIKE THIS???

Melkor did not understand at all. 

Morgoth seemed to be cold and distant to all the Valar, he didn’t even like explaining things to his brother and constantly avoided their company. He was so strict with his ways that he wouldn’t even allow Yavanna the simple wish of letting her trees live eternally, he didn’t like the intervention of the natural order carried in Aman!

By all accounts, what did he have to care about such things as hunting Void beasts???!

The Music was unimpressed. The Void beasts were not part of the natural order. 

Melkor deeply resented that little pest. 

Great. 

He was now a fucking monster hunter apparently—

And now that was how he found himself sat at the head of a long table with his council, wondering how his life had come down to this. 

“Judging by the reports, this is no mere beast,” Gothmog had said with a deep frown. 

“No survivors to describe it either,” Lungorthin added. 

Of course there fucking weren’t…

Those couldn’t even be called reports! They were basically a pathetic plea of ‘please help us!’ with no useful information attached besides a VERY vague area as the location. 

“I would see to it myself if you wish, My Lord,” Gothmog offered. 

Well, if he was offering—

The Music blared in warning and Melkor frowned, looking down at the map. 

Gothmog and his Valaraukar were not enough?

Outside of Utumno and his reach they would become vulnerable and mortal, but their fánar were well crafted and they no doubt had dealt with similar beasts before. Melkor knew for a fact sometimes Morgoth had sent his vassals out of Utumno on his orders without fearing their destruction. 

The Music did not let down. 

It was that bad then…

“No,” he shook his head. “I have a feeling— It would be best if I deal with it. Prepare to leave soon”

He stood up swiftly, internally cursing at his luck. 

“Yes, My Lord!”

What was he even walking into…?

The feeling that something was terribly wrong only increased in the next three days. Utumno was in a frenzy to prepare for their leave, and Melkor had taken it upon himself to submerge himself into the Music. He could not see anything but darkness in Hithlum, and that only cemented that there was something terrible waiting ahead. 

His mood soured and the dark clouds above Utumno intensified. Outside, it was impossible to see even a foot in front of one’s nose through the wind and the snow. 

A handful of servants came early in the morning of his departure and dressed him in his black armour, which he dreaded even looking at. As much as Melkor had liked the book and its violent moments, he was still, at the end of the day… Just a spoiled trust fund baby who had never held a weapon before! He couldn’t even operate a blender when he moved out to live on his own! 

The Music had tried to placate him but it did not make him feel better. 

Sure, he had been relying on Morgoth’s ‘muscle’ memory for things such as reshaping his fána or even just using his most basic abilities, but that was one thing! What if he made a giant fool of himself!? He couldn’t die but he could be humiliated!

He didn’t want to do this, could he just stay in his comfortable bed?

The Music did not agree.

Ugh! 

The Valaraukar were ready, and the rest of the court came to say their goodbyes in the lower gate of the fortress. Draugluin was left behind and Melkor indulged him with scratching his ears before he left. He didn’t know why exactly, but he felt that if he were to come with him, the werewolf would not come out of it alive. 

Mairon stood there as well, having forged some of the newer weapons for the Valaraukar, and Fankil stood slightly behind him. The latter sported a complicated expression, half furious still to be forced to follow Mairon’s leas, and half in genuine concern for Melkor. He didn’t know how to feel about that exactly, but he was genuinely surprisef that Fankil actually cared at all.

“I trust you will see to Utumno in my absence,” Melkor said to Tevildo.

“With great honour, sire,” the cat bowed down elegantly. 

Melkor looked at the pair of smiths and suddenly was struck with a devious idea. A smirk formed on his lips. 

“Mayazōnōz,” he called, beckoning him closer. 

The redhead straightened and walked forwards, Fankil following instinctively. He inclined his head demurely next to Tevildo. 

“Master?”

“You will assist Tevildo while Kosomot is gone. Do not disappoint me”

Mairon’s eyes widened and he inclined himself further while Fankil gaped.

“Yes, Master!”

Melkor turned his back on them and stepped out towards the deadly blizzard. 

He was so cute…!

He missed his fanart and merch collection more than ever. Now he had absolutely no excuse to plaster his walls with Mairon’s portraits and that should be a fucking crime. 

The Valaraukar extended their flaming wings around him, a wall of fire that even then was only barely visible amidst the storm. His fána dispersed into a cold wind, rising towards the black clouds until the gates were not visible anymore and all that waited ahead were mountains and darkness. 

Somehow, Melkor thought he would not come back the same.