𝕺𝓷𝓮 𝕽𝓲𝓷𝓰

VAN HELSING

Melkor closed his eyes briefly as Mairon's words lingered, igniting a dark flame inside him, such a peculiar thing for him to feel. Tempestuous and terrible, free and unchained by any duality of good or evil. Tendrils of darkness moved, slithering against the floor and the distance between them. Melkor's eyes unfocused and lost somewhere in the darkness as tendrils snaked around Mairon's ankles, slowly climbing up, around his thighs, his waist, and chest, coiling around his neck when Melkor's gaze turned on him with the intensity that only the eyes of a God could hold.

Everything his gaze held flooded Mairon's mind like a dam breaking, without warning or foresight save for the possessiveness in Melkor's eyes, allowing him to feel his desire and thought.

"You. I desire nothing more, nothing less. I will break you apart until you forget who you were, who you are, or even if you are anymore, and it will be me that will sing you back together again, over and over… Glorious and perfect as you are, my little flame, my yet uncrowned angel."

⅋. ⥽. he is a being wrought of pure light, aflame. this country of horror should repel him. yet as shadows lick the stones and mountain bones jut like the teeth of beasts long buried, he finds he likes being the brightest thing in the court of the dark lord. there are claws of darkness, intangible yet insistent upon the fair flesh of his fana, curling around his thighs, his waist, crawl up around his throat, and mairon wants. his breath catches. want is strange and desire stranger still. he had never allowed himself to hunger before, only in odd dreams, in shameful thoughts of what could be, were he not bound by custom. his lord aule had always decreed that creation was not a thing to be owned but bestowed upon all to share. to oppose that was to oppose his fundamental role, his service. yet in his heart, in secret, mairon had opposed.

the gaze of the vala beholds him with such desire that he feels flayed beneath it, splayed open like fruit. it is his prideful instinct to rebel, and so he at first revolts and then yields, for that dark touch does not abide his rebellion. the thought of power tastes sweet between his teeth. he cannot fathom a return to almaren, having tasted what it is to be desired, and to desire in kind.

with resolve embalmed by the promises of something great, his smaller hands reach and lay upon the lord melkor's thighs, tentative but daring. he leans forth, gazing up reverently, ❛ you say you desire me... then let your song be the only truth I know. ❜ mairon breathes, a vow torn from the marrow of his spirit. ❛ command me, only do not leave me in the dark. give me purpose, my lord. grant me ruin if it means I fall by your hand and by your will alone. ❜

there is a putrid feel to the place, some wicked yearning digging its wretched tendrils into any shred of light cast along the ancient stone; something whispers in the deep. tínu holds his lamp as a boon against whatever great oppressive swipe might seek to knock him off the delicately carved plinth bridge he carefully walks along, and curses his unnatural frame. he is no dwarf - six feet and seven, as broad as the cave before the bridge itself and clumsy with it, all bent back and cramping knees - the harsh cut slate scraping at his thighs and elbows. this particular section of the mine joins into a wider berth but you must squeeze over the narrow drop to get to the deeper veins of gold, iron and mithril, and he feels unwieldy in his steps and gait. they would never find me, he thinks miserably.

he does not turn back.

there was something lurking down here, he could feel it; is this the gift of the eldar he once asked lord elrond and received little by the way of reassurance, so perhaps it is his burden to know the truth of the mountain and its people: something this way comes. good or ill, he knows not but suspects he may yet find out as he ventures further in.

⅋. ⥽. in the cleansing of dol goldur, that hill of sorcery, the enemy had been but disavowed. he ascends now in the east, and his many legions and his many creatures crawl from the forgotten depths of the earth, from ruins of old, of fallen kingdoms and of graves, as spies and servants to his wicked decree. beneath every vaulted earth, indeed in the lungs of all montanious depths, there breathes the vestige of a time that had known the primal dark that once reigned o'er arda. it lingers in seams of stone older than light, in the slow drip of mineral tears along the jagged walls. it is the evil of old, and it awakens now with a new face. alas, the servants of the enemy sleep still.

this one task ━━ he had decided to oblige himself.

❛ i claim no title, ❜ voyd of light is the terrible figure made half of flesh and the other half of darkness, and voyd of light is all in his path, deeper still than the heart of the mountain. cloaked as he is, and armoured—though it is with difficulty one might discern individual features without the gift of fire—the brittle white of his hair seems no more than a faint veil caught in the shadow. ❛ and I, nameless, seek no quarrel. ❜

tall he may be, and broad, but the dark hides the true severity of his face, cursed never to be woven fair for its blasphemy. ❛ something was stolen from me. ❜ drawls the deceiver, in a voice light and pleasing, for his deceptions, which some in distant countries call magic, and others tricks, permit such manipulation. ❛ nought but a trinket passed like smoke through dragon gold, but more precious to me than the finest vault of your mithril. ❜

he would not be entertained. the audacity of him, to try and pretend he had not abandoned her, broken his promises to her, ended their betrothal ... and for what? for nothing. nothing to show, none of that power so valued over the devotion and love given by her so sincerely, so happily.

if it was his desire to pretend he was not mairon, he would be treated as such. two could play at this game and he was out of his depth, for she was the better player of the two.

" i have no desire to be the recipient of your lacking and tedious flirts, halbrand. go find a naive maid easily swayed instead, i am certain they will respond far better due to lower standards " not even a look was granted, eyes averted from this human form he had taken. almost unwilling to acknowledge him in this way. " i have no interest in a low man such as yourself. trailing after me like a dog who was not properly trained and cannot show basic decency to stop when asked. " cold, harsh words, rejecting him as she had been doing since his arrival upon the island. ilmarë refused to be drawn in by him again.

⅋. ⥽. SAURON IS A CREATURE OF ALLURE, AS FALSE AS GOLD, but the days of glorious utumno are long gone, and of resplendent almaren longer still. he is no more a servant, nor a lieutenant. tucked away, here, amid the dusty recesses of some old forge off the cobbled avenue, with a stolen guild crest in his pocket, he is only halbrand ━━ and halbrand is only a man made of flesh, with all the mundanity that comes with being mortal. the saltwater drying in his dishevelled hair, which dulls the already-dull colour, the rough fabric of the garments he wore, the stained smithing apron... none of it should lend itself to charm, yet he grants the lady a charming grin all the same.

ilmarë inspires such ire in him that his spirit threatens to scorch the meat of the man's face he wears, but halbrand would not be moved, and so he remains resolute in the face of her refusal. ❛ if I wanted easy company, I wouldn’t be talking to you, now would I? ❜ as he speaks, he rolls the sleeves of his worn shirt, arms crossing over his chest, leaning against the nearby anvil with casual ease. ❛ despite your many protests, i can't help noticing you're still here and you've yet to slam that door in my face. ❜