Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.

Patience is costly, especially to one such as I, but then I would pay any price and wait any stretch of time for the one who commanded it of me. Curious to reminisce on how much has altered from when first I came with the others to Almaren, bright with ardor to mould and build, to devise and create. My fingers itched with eagerness as I bled my labour into those great lamps for a master who nodded his meagre gratitude and dismissed me as all the others.

I had quashed the feeling of dismay that my talents were not recognised for the full superiority they possessed, for surely it was some conceit in me that needed rectifying. Yet as I gazed up at the completed constructions and saw my handiwork so starkly neater, stronger, more splendid than those it had been soldered to, I felt the first speck of corrosion begin to eat at my soul.

Wretched grating upon my being it was, that acidic gnawing of underappreciation; I sought hard to be rid of it, though to my utter torment no matter how many times I swung my hammer in the forge I could not beat it out, no matter how fervently I worked the bellows I could not sweat it out. I came to despise all yielded from my deft fingers yet I could not desist in my efforts.

The more I frenzied the more I felt the tarnish spread upon the golden splendour of my soul. My old master did not notice, only commended my dedication, applauded my unceasing endeavours without noting the waning quality of the slag-pile worthy efforts I was producing. Truthfully, whatever fell from my hands was still greater than anything my peers could even dream of attaining, but I could perceive the flaws, minute though they may have been, and each one was another mark of failures upon my corroding being.

The breeze caresses my hair in offer of a dance, the polished copper strands tied in winding neat plait down my back teasing an acceptance; yet still I do not move. Nor will I, until it is time. So I wait and remember all that I was and think on all that is to come. For I am on a precipice here, a precipice of choice. There is still time for me to turn back, to warn the others of what shall befall them, to mayhaps prevent the fate that awaits this isle.

It howls from my mouth, slashed open by sudden red-lipped mirth, with high pitched insanity. Memories could not move me but this laughable lie has forced the truth through gritted teeth that would never have been able to hold it in. There is no going back. If there was ever a precipice, I had leapt from it long ago. He had beckoned me from the abyss beneath, reaching for me, and I had fallen into his waiting arms, to be held by those hands that swept away the flakes of rust accumulated on my soul. Oh how his gaze stripped me to the rawness of my true self with eyes of wonder and lustful understanding.

His ebony hair bleeds into the void of the night he rules, his skin is the deep gray of hazy light fading to shadow, his entire being seethes darkness and that is all they see. Blind fools, their eyes speckled with the afterglow of their own brilliance that they fail to behold that he houses the greatest light of them all, beating within his chest, magma-bright coursing through his veins. It is my light, I beheld it and it was as though I faced my twin. I was made for that heart, to join it and fill it with my own amber flame. I was made to flow through him and be of him.

As though he knows I think of him, I see him for a brief moment on the furthest shore across the watery expanse of the Great Lake. Where there appeared to be a mountain obscured in the distance it is now gone, a vast shadow slid behind another peak, and I know it is him; he is waiting for me to seek him out. But not yet. Soon, oh so achingly soon. The gossamer threads of my patience begin to strain and snap against the knowledge of his proximity. Soon, soon.

Then I hear it, the unmistakable rumble of Tulkas finally succumbing to sleep once more. The great oaf has been feasting and dancing with his bride for an age as he did once before when evil was able to sneak through and now it shall use his weariness against him once more. The others will continue without him, sightless and naive to all else. They think themselves safe, unknowing of what brews in the north, of who shall assail them at their most vulnerable point. They were ignorant then and they are ignorant now.

They asked why I did not join in the festivities, the laughter and the dancing. I told them I was not one to dance and they sighed and shook their heads and let me be with a shrug of their shoulders. I will not be missed but I will be regretted.

I uncoil from my position, a languid flame ready to bloom across the lake as though it were oil and not water. No one sees me leave, so preoccupied are they with their merry-making. I shed my physical form to speed on as a lightning strike and I am at the foot of Illuin before the next melody of the night has begun, whereupon I am greeted by the magnificent sight of him.

His name has been hostage in my mouth, savoured and held close until such a time as I could utter it. I would not waste it in solitude, though it was desperate to leap from my longing tongue again and again in worshipful refrain. Now he is here before me, I am free to release it. It melodiously swells against my lips and spills forth in breathy adoration.

“Melkor.”

His grin is wicked and warm as I gaze up at him, leaning indolently against the pillar upon which the blue light of Illuin glows, showering him in a gleaming of sapphires to adorn his obsidian hair. His hands rest on the handle of a great war-hammer and on seeing me he hoists it upon one armour-clad shoulder as though it weighed no more than a sapling.

He has come as a god of war, a lord of destruction, eminent and foreboding, thick black armour upon which malevolent spikes adorn the edges in thorny crowning. He almost made the hammer obsolete, for what need had he of a weapon, when he could strike and obliterate better than any forged?

“Shall we begin?”

No music in the world compared to the intoxicating cadence of his voice, no music seeped into the soul with such spell-binding promise. He does not wait for me to answer but instead brings the great hammer up above his head in a smooth arc before swinging it down in a resounding crash against the base of the lamp. Illuin trembles, the fire within sloshing about and threatening to spill over the sides. The whole earth shakes and it is all I can do to maintain my footing.

Melkor swings again and this time I am brought to my knees with the tumult. His eyes find mine as I regain my feet and they are incandescent with glee. He raises his mighty hammer a third time and when it falls, it is evident the lamp will do so likewise. He does not wait to see the result, for there is still Ormal to be dealt with. I have kept myself upright, my body now attuned to the tremors his blows enact upon the land, and he beckons for me to follow him. We both abandon our bodily raiment to aid our speed; he is the cloaking mist that swathes the sky in darkness and I am the iridescent fire hidden within.

I watch as he pulls his corporeal form to himself once more so that he transforms from a cyclone of ash to hit the second lamp as a meteor striking the earth. It is all it takes. Ormal folds in on itself in a creaking, groaning agony. Over the din of its demise the voice of his brother can be heard, bellowing Melkor’s name across the heavens to drown out all the cacophonies my Lord has created.

The dusky skin of he who I adore turns almost as pale as my own alabaster pallor. His gloating mouth now sours into a snarl of hate, but fear lurks beneath. He tries to hide it but I see, for I have studied him ere long I have known him and every ridge and plane, every vein and pore of his face in all the emotions he doth grace it with is known to me. I will show him he need never hide from me anything his soul bears, for I will bear it with him and with full gladness.

He does not need to ask, for I know the time has come to flee to his realm of Utumno. The world has been thrown into chaos at the destruction of the great lamps. Fires rage only to be quenched moments later in mountainous waves.

As monstrous bats we hide amongst the billowing black of cloud churned sky. The beat of Melkor’s great wings stir up winds so fierce that trees are ripped from their roots and lakes are emptied of their fill, drenching the landscape around them in a sea of ruin. He will be easy to follow with such devastation in his wake and he knows it, so with a final roll of leathery wings he dives to the earth and lands as a stallion, obsidian coat shimmering in the gloom, ruby red eyes piercing the shadows, and hooves of granite pawing the ground. The earth is already becoming so torn as to make any imprint of his negligible.

I pause a moment when I hear his voice in my mind.

Come. Ride.

So broad is his back that my legs instantly begin to ache in straddling him. My fingers entwine in the raven-feather softness of his mane. He pounds over the earth with a velocity that belies his monumental size. At first it is all I can do to stay seated upon him, thrown about am I as a leaf buffeted in a storm, clinging to its stem in futility.

I tighten my fingers in his mane and he offers no protest, I clench my knees to his flank and he rides on unhindered. I find his rhythm, the roll and buck, and I match it with my own. Tentatively at first then more assuredly as I feel our bodies move in harmony together. His heat reeks into me, singeing along my thighs and pooling in a tight knot within my centre. He kicks down harder and we rush on with a rapidity that causes the already tumultuous world to melt into streaks of colour.

I press my body closer to his back, my face now buried in the flying rivulets of his silken hair. The searing within me has reached such an intense crescendo I am sure he must feel it burning through my now slicked skin.

I, who command flame, whose spirit is fire given consciousness, find myself rendered inadequate against the intensity now swelling within me. Desire for release crawls up my begging throat when the roiling muscles that move so wonderfully beneath me begin to slow. The cry recedes back down and the knot loosens a merciful winch as we reach a standstill.

We wait a while, I draped so inelegantly upon his back whilst our synchronised breaths heave in and out until they, too, slow to a steady pulse. With great reluctance I slide down his glistening hide to stand neatly on the barren land. We have reached the shadow-drenched fortress that is now my home forevermore, its basalt facade looms with menacing promise, the mountain reaching out in a stony embrace to entomb me in its fire-kissed hollows.

A shiver of triumphant anticipation traces a lightning path down the curve of my back, only to be abruptly brought to a halt by the warm pressure of a hand upon the base of my spine. Tall am I, well-built, forge-wrought muscles abound to ensure I have a towering presence amongst the Ainur and yet Melkor’s palm with fingers splayed covers the breadth of my back up to my middle. The knot so recently relaxed twists inside me with such wrenching violence I fear he will feel the sudden tension beneath his calloused fingertips.

He presses those fingertips into me, urging me forwards, and I nearly refuse so that I can feel him press deeper into my back but I know there is work to be done and I have no time to indulge in fantasies and follies. It is enough that he has brought me here, it is enough that I shall be by his side. I repeat the lie with each step forward I take, willing it to be true with the next footfall.

So focussed am I on my internal mantra that I notice not where he is leading me. It is only as I feel the cold rush in to replace the absence of his hand upon me that I become aware of where we are. The throne room. Cavernous and bathed in the orange glow of the fiery heart of Arda, it is filled with the raucous delight of my Lord’s followers. It appeared I had started with one revelry and was ending with another.

It is a sickening spectacle to accost the senses, grotesque is the movement of limbs in shambling, lurching unrhythmic prancing. The mirth is evident as spirits gamble about and balrogs lurch to and fro to the dreadful beat of their stamping feet upon the ground. Lively is the laughter echoing off the flame-gouged walls. I wonder if I might retire and return after all is over and I turn to ask my Lord for his leave when I see him sink heavily onto his throne. He gestures to the pandemonium before him.

“Go and join, thou hast done well.”

“Nay, Lord.”

I become the focus of his piercing eyes, his attention uncomfortably honed in on me whilst a smile creeps playfully upon his face. He leans nonchalantly upon the rough hewn arm of his throne and his head tilts in my direction upon propped up fist.

“Thou doth not dance?”

It is unfair, a cruel jape, to use that lilting mocking tone. It is not the first time he has taunted me, indeed, it is how he first caught my attention, ridiculing the tension in my shoulders as I slaved needlessly for an ungrateful master. It has the same impact on me now as it did then, the same urge arises in me. My eyes flare and I turn my face away to hide it from him, to hide how I wish to silence his insolent tongue with my own pressed upon it, to take that smirk between my teeth until he bleeds an apology into my mouth. I would have him beg my forgiveness with his hands as his lips would be too occupied in penance to my own. I would take all his hellish repentance and bestow all the euphoric mercy my body had, which for him was as endless as the Flame Imperishable.

The air stills and all feel it.

“Leave.”

The horde know better than to make him ask a second time as they clamour over one another to flee from that hall and their master’s potential ire. Where once was a chaotic din there is now ear-shattering silence. I step forward to obey his command even though I know he doth not mean for me to follow as the others; for I am not like the others.

He stands from his throne, all trace of mocking vanished from his face, and proceeds towards me.

“Look at me.”

I do not. I cannot. For he shall see it within me, that desire of which I have no hope of reciprocation. Unrequited I can continue, but not unrequited and known. This shameful secret must remain with me, my pride will not take the humiliation. So it is I keep my eyes firmly averted, even as he approaches and is but a few inches from me, his hulking black form towers before me so I am cast in the shadow of his heart. I feel his breath upon the crown of my head, stirring loose strands about my face and still my eyes remain fixed on the wall beyond him.

I think he will ask again but he does not, instead I feel firm fingers slide up against my abdomen and clench around the belt at my waist. My heart stutters as though he has wrapped himself directly around it. Still I refuse to look at him. The only warning I get is a further tightening around my waist before I am hefted up in one swift jolt. He has crushed me up against him, the depth of his hand the only thing separating us. I am suspended, he my only tether, and at last my eyes are forced to his own. One the bitter blue of glacier ice and the other the coruscant red of volcanic depths.

His gaze is steady, drinking in the molten-gold of my own. The knot inside me has expanded to wrap around all the inner workings of my body so I am a tangle of discomfort, ready to be undone.

“Will thou dance with me?”

The answer is from me before I can blink, so instinctual is it that it expels from hastily sucked in breath.

“Yes.”

He sets me back down and his hand detaches itself from my belt. I have no time to mourn the loss of his closeness for it is replaced upon my back and I am pressed against him once more. Hands interlocked, arms encircling, we step through the hall to no music save the hum of the mountain, low and sonorous. He leads, I follow, his nimbleness of foot ensures there are no missteps.

On we go, round and round, faster and faster we whirl in a blur of black and umber, of onyx and amber; we are the jewels hidden in the depths of the earth. Giddiness overtakes me so in my heady state I become as entangled in mind as I am within body. I know not how much more of this I can take, this tantalizing give and take wherein not enough is given and not enough is taken. I am parched and all that is offered is the smell of water, the touch of it upon my lips where it evaporates before I can lick the drops. It is torture of the cruelest kind and as unyielding as I am, I feel the knot inside me begin to tear me in visceral shreds.

We have stopped, though I do not remember the moment, so caught an I in my own torment. His hand is cradling my jaw, tipping my head back so I am made to look into his eyes once more.

“Mairon.”

I cannot breathe.

“Thou art the most precious of all Eru’s creations, that it seemeth impossible he couldst have created thee at all, and I would savour thee to the last ember of thy soul.”

The knot snaps, whiplashing me inside, it writhes and contorts and dissolves until I am freed.

“However, I shall not take what thou will not freely give-”

His words are cut short as now I am unleashed from all inhibition, I move onward with no backward glance. His armour is rough beneath my fingers as I grip the top of his breastplate and drag him down to me, where my hungry mouth awaits to devour in dire need and naked want. The drought is over, my thirst is slaked. There is a great screaming of metal and we both leap back to reveal I have rent the thick iron plate in two.

The colossal space is filled with resounding laughter as Melkor discards the broken suit, piece by piece until he is stood completely bare before me, tidal ink spill of hair flows down his well-muscled back to brush the top of his thick waist.

I now have the divine job of memorising every delectable detail, the softer curves of his hips and thighs in contrast to the sharp lines of muscle adorning his stomach, the freckles that splay across his shoulders more numerous and wondrous than those lights Varda placed in the heavens, the dimples in his knees, the sturdy straightness of his shins, the way the light catches and ripples over his mountainous form.

He watches me drink him in and when my wandering gaze reaches his once more the gaiety that had lightened his dark brow has been replaced with a yearning solemnity that steals the very breath from my already panting lungs. He falls to his knees before me, hands placed with gentle grasping on either side of my face.

“Speak it. Let me hear it from thee again.”

I know what it is he asks for, for I use it seldom. I lean forward so our brows press to one another. He is my master, he is my lord, he is the bringer of destruction and the harbinger of chaos, he is the mightiest foe and the greatest of us all, he is-

“Melkor.”

I breathe his name into the quivering air between us.

He shudders into my lips, hot and heavy and sweeter than any nectar produced by those flowers of Yavanna’s making.

“Again.”

His demand keens in a voice unknown to me, one laden with a vulnerability I never hear him use again save for these moments when he has me to himself.

I whisper his name against pleading lips as his hands slide to my waist and draw me to him. It is his turn to rip my garb from me with impatient voraciousness. Then, for a second time I am straddling him, for a second time my legs are brought to aching as they entwine about his waist, for a second time I rise and fall with the rhythm he sets beneath me and the next time his name issues from my panting mouth he has no need to ask for it, for nothing could have held it within me.

I am a paradox in that moment, both wholly unbound by, yet forever bonded to, the only one I shall ever call beloved.

🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡

My headcanon is that before the destruction of the lamps, Melkor and Mairon kept things professional as their relationship began, even though both of them were quickly obsessed with each other. I also think Melkor was testing Mairon to see if he’d be truly loyal to him and betray The Valar.

Mairon was still learning how to be with Melkor both physically as a much more powerful primordial being and in terms of their relationship as newfound master and servant. I think once Melkor established his undying adoration and carnal want for Mairon, Mairon not only learnt he held more power and equality than he did under Aulë, but that his feelings were reciprocated so the dynamic shifted after that and true Angbanging could commence 😌

Their relationship continues to grow stronger from here on in!

this painting was rlly just a simple monochrome interpretation of saint edmund the martyr king of england by luc-oliver merson, and I don’t think I originally planned it to be of a silm character, but of course my terrible fixation bled through … also I was too scared to paint the halo so I opted for silmarils </3