Disclaimer: This is only a fanfic, as is obvious it being on this site, and I own none of the characters or places, the Tolkien Estate does.
I used to think it was beautiful out here. Beautiful quiet and solitude, time to think, space to think away from the noisome thoughts and voices of my one time kin. Away from him. I knew he was a fraud, almost from the very beginning. He claimed to have created us, that we sprung from his thought. But who created him? Something cannot spring from nothing. I know that all too well from my days in Arda.
Out here I came to the conclusion I have held to ever since, the conclusion that shaped my life. Eru was not omnipotent, not all knowing, and certainly not my creator. It seemed most likely to me that he was the same as all the rest of us, but with greater power given to him, as some Ainur had greater power than others. The Secret Fire I surmised to be the source of this power, that somehow it did not give its power in equal measure to all.
Where the Secret Fire had come from I could not begin to guess. I put this problem aside for later, however. That fact of our being ruled under false pretences rankled with me far too much at that time for other thought. I took to wandering out here, in the Dark, searching for the Fire, in the hope of drawing greater power for myself and putting Eru in his place.
It never occurred to me that he might have concealed it within himself. I was young, I gave my opponent too little credit.
When he decided to have us sing together, I did my best to fight him. How dare he try to tell me what to sing. I had my own imagination, I could come up with a song at least as good as his.
That was the source of my first grief, for Manwë, my brother, with whom I had entered life, did not join with me, but was foremost in the fight against me.
I fought back with greater vigour. I have always had a competitive streak in me.
By the end, I had disturbed his perfect little song so much that Eru had to stop the entire disharmony. He was not happy with me, as I could tell when he told me off. He told me that nothing I could do would not be already extant in his thought, for he had created me.
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself giving him an angry reply. I think that was one of my better exercises of self control. I have let my temper run away with me at times. In this cold it's hard to imagine anything being able to ignite the hot spark of rage now. It is so frigid I feel chilled to my very fëa. I doubt that I could move if I wished to.
My lieutenant might have been able to raise his anger here. Mairon always had a temper many times hotter than mine. Maybe it had something to do with the hair.
He was my first follower. First and greatest. Only Gothmog could compare to him in my favour. Mairon listened when Manwë would not, nodding seriously all the while. He understood completely, told me he had even begun to have inklings of the same idea himself.
I doubt that. Most of the ideas he had on his own were bad. Turning into a wolf and fighting Huan in single combat as an example. And sending out his wolves one by one to fight that same hound.
When Eru showed us Arda, I was delighted. At last, here was a place where he would not be watching us all the time, a place where I could work on my companions until they realised the truth of what I had to say and followed me in my rebellion against him.
I tried. I tried, but only some Maiar would have any of it. The Valar all gave me dangerous shut up looks, and Aulë threatened me with his hammer once.
That was what decided me. I knocked over his foolish lamps.
I wasn't expecting the war that followed. I didn't realise my brother had a temper too, hidden under all that bird fluff. I wasn't ready for it, and it ended badly for me. I had to retreat to my fortress and hide within it, pretending that everywhere was like my corner of Arda, where I sat and experimented with new animals and plants that liked the dark. Mairon chipped in once or twice, but mostly he sulked. I don't think he wanted to leave the Valar and join me physically as well as mentally. Tough. What was right, was right. There was no getting around it.
When the Elves turned up I was happy. Finally I had new faces to talk to, someone else to tell of Eru's monstrous lies.
That didn't turn out as planned either. They were scared of my followers, and ran away. The ones I did capture spat at me until I got angry. I left them in Gothmog's charge until it was too late to do anything with them. The first Orcs were persuaded to become my followers when they realised that their former friends wanted nothing more to do with them. They weren't pretty anymore.
The Valar turned up soon after that, lead by my highly vexing brother. They attacked in force, and unfortunately they outnumbered me.
Sitting in the same room for thousands of years wrapped up in chain is just about the most boring thing that can happen to you. At least I had plenty of time to think about what I was going to do to each Vala and Maia in exquisite detail.
When they finally let me out I was quite horrified to discover how many Elves there were in Valinor, how many had believed the Valar's lies about Eru and their origins. It was obvious to anyone who looked that I had caused the awakening of the Elves. Who else was ruling Middle Earth at the time?
I latched on to the cleverest Elf I found, and tried to talk him round. He didn't listen to me much. Enough to create discord, but he did not believe what I told him about Eru and his own race's origins. At least he didn't report me to Manwë. I really didn't fancy another few Ages in prison.
And then he invented the most beautiful jewels in the world.
I had to have them. They shone in the most beautiful colours that the trees had ever produced, all rolled into one. When he wore them, he had no need of a lamp to guide him in the dark, for their light was enough.
Don't take this the wrong way. I didn't want them because they were beautiful, although they certainly were that. I wanted them to make a statement, to prove that they would not burn me. I had seen the way everyone looked at me. Very few of the Valar, save Manwë, thought that I really had dropped my 'evil ways'. And I knew that Tulkas for one was just waiting to hit me with something.
And so I waited patiently, until everyone - even Fëanor - was engaged in their festival celebrating something or other. To tell the truth, I couldn't care less what they were celebrating. It had to be false. Once they were all busy, I found an old ally of mine. Ungoliant was irritating in the extreme, but she did have one redeeming feature. She ate light.
Just the thing to tell these Valar that they were not all powerful because they had Eru's favour. To show them that forcible imprisonment was no way to persuade me of anything. To show them that they were wrong. Ungoliant ate their pretty trees, and then under cover of darkness I went to Formenos and made off with Fëanor's pretty Silmarils, among other things with which to pay off Ungoliant.
Unfortunately she double crossed me, and nearly killed me too. Luckily however my faithful followers who had stayed true even after all this time heard my call for help, and drove her off.
Shaken, I went home to Angamando, with more hurt in my heart than merely fear for my life.
The Silmarils had burned me. When I opened my hand at last and set their casket down in my bedchamber, away from prying eyes, I saw the red marks all across my palm and fingers that corresponded all too vividly with the pain in my hand.
In time I realised what had happened. The Silmarils were hallowed by Varda. If they were hallowed, they must be sacred to Eru. And Eru was my enemy. He had burned me, not because I was Evil, but because I fought him.
Pleased that I had realised the reason for my pain, I had the Silmarils set into a crown, and wore it and my scar proudly, as testimony to my rightness.
I was starting to restore my assets - seriously, Mairon may be a good administrator, but he has no idea how to organise an army. My orcs were all fat and indolent from too little work.
I had Gothmog whip them into shape, and then sat back to consider expanding my influence to Valinor while the Valar were still confused.
Then Fëanor turned up, with an army.
I mean, honestly, how irritating can one Elf be? No one I've ever met since has been such trouble. Turgon is the only one who comes close.
I killed him, anyway. And captured his son. I tried to shake some sense into Maedhros - he was a bright young Elf, he would have been an asset if he'd agreed with me.
Unfortunately, he didn't, and I got in a temper and hung him off a cliff, from which, I'm given to understand, his cousin rescued him with a harp. A harp. Don't ask me why he thought to bring one on a secret mission alone into enemy territory. Elves have always been a closed book to me. I understand mortals far better.
There's not much to tell about most of the First Age. The Valar invented some more lanterns - floating ones this time, so I couldn't knock them down. I had various fights with Elves. Mairon managed to loose an entire fortress to a woman and a dog, because he sent his army to fight them one by one. I was angry with him for about a hundred years after that episode. I eventually regained control over most of Middle-earth, even taking down Gondolin and Nargothrond.
And then the Valar turned up, very angry with me because apparently I was not only a heretic, but I'd also killed a lot of their favourite pretty Elves.
What can I say? They beat me. I had spent a great deal of my strength on inventing new creatures, my beautiful Ancalagon among them. Ancalagon, who managed to be brought down by an Elf in a flying boat. What is it about Elves and succeeding in ridiculous situations?
I told them that I repented, that I accepted Eru and was sorry for my wrongdoings. It worked last time, but now they weren't having any of it. The chained me up and threw me in the Void.
And here I am, with nothing to do but drift, and think. And freeze a little more. It's so cold.
A light is coming towards me, slowing growing brighter through the dark. I watch, frowning, my brow furrowed. What is it?
The light slows beside me, and with a grinding of teeth I recognise Eru. I open my mouth to spit at him, but before I can he unlocks my chains with a word.
I get to my feet and stare at him, openmouthed. Astonishment saturates my body.
"The time for the Dagor Dagorath has come, Melkor. I will now that ye return to Arda, and do battle with thy brethren. But lo, I give thee a choice, greatest of my children. Thou may win this battle, it is not ordained. But be warned. In truth thou shalt only defeat thine enemy by joining with thy brethren. Farewell, greatest of my children!"
And now he is gone, and I am falling, a smile on my face. At last. I will defeat the Valar, and when I rule Arda, then I shall stretch out my arm to the Timeless halls. And none can stop me.
Author's Note: I wrote this story in the zone, the way I normally do short stories. Once I was finished with it I read it over, and realised it looked at her religious. I, myself, am an atheist, so I didn't want to write a story that looked like it was condemning what I believe. I would like to point out here and now that this story is not condemning atheism. Everyone has some good ideas and some bad. That's not meant to be a touchy sentence either. Everyone's ideas of good and bad are different. This isn't a good!Morgoth story. It's a story in which I try to imagine him as something other than absolute Evil. The French Revolution had lots of good ideas, but that didn't stop it turning into a bloodbath. The same happened to my Morgoth.
I hope you enjoyed the story. Namarie!