Tea with Melkor
Dark, fathomless eyes peered into mine, filling my gaze with their swirling depths, revealing the violent turmoil within. Hate and anger radiated from those eyes, washed over me, consumed me. The eyes were deep wells, drowning me in their depths. Distantly, I heard a melodious voice accompany the gaze, and the harsh tone mingled with its sweet sounds was chilling to hear. Vaguely, I understood what was said.
"These are raspberry scones, not blueberry! I should blite you where you stand for your incompetence and intransigence!"
Melkor sat draped in the black velvet Lazyboy armchair he coveted, one arm thrown lazily out behind his head on an armrest, his feet dangling over the other one. His luxurious golden hair threw a startling contrast about his head, clearly outlining his sharp features, shadowed by an unspeakable sadness. He cut a sharp figure in his armor, darker than obsidian, and engraved with words of the dark tongue and horribly detailed images of the plights of Elves. His great sword hung from his belt, his shield resting at his feet. His shoulders were broad, his body and face undeniably beautiful. He was still the terrible general, and his mere presence was imposing enough to make even the bravest Noldor quail. His stride was long and purposeful, and his hair and cloak always managed to catch the faintest breeze. The light of the torches cast fire and shadow over his face, and his brooding melancholy only heightened his surreal appearance. The bulky, black, rough homespun turtleneck he always wore over everything did tarnish the image to some extent, but it was wise not to dispute with the dark lord on how chilly it was, and the dangers of exposure.
With an overly dramatic sigh that spoke of deep suffering and the memory of past wrongdoings, he swung his arm in a huge arc and ceremoniously slapped the plate of scones off the chair, with an undeniably woeful noise of hurt and disgust issuing from his throat.
"Nooooooooooo!" he screamed as his fatal action sent the plate spiraling to the floor. I sat paralyzed as the plate slowly clattered on the floor, Melkor falling out of the chair as his eyes widened in disbelief. The scones bounced and tumbled, the scattered crumbs spelling death in my benumbed perceptions as they slowly skittered towards the Persian rug at Melkor's feet. Melkor was crawling now, scrambling to shield the rug. A single red-tinted bit of pastry flew past his out flung hand to land solidly on the golden threads. A maid, impervious to her peril, strode past the prostrate lord to get to the heart of the mess- and stepped on the foul crumb.
Melkor looked up from his knees slowly, his eyes wide and streaming. The baby face sported trembling lips, and a nose that twitched. His eyes sought out the maid's, full of remorse, forlornly gazing into her very soul. "Why," he choked tearfully, and slumped down to touch his forehead to the rug that was his god-thing. Trembling, he reverently touched the threads then snapped his head up sharply. "YOU!" he gasped, and flung out his hands in the most hateful- yet pitiful- way he could manage.
The maid quickly burst into flame and disintegrated before she could even scream.
"Melkor," I chided, "that was our last maid. Who will make your scones now?"
"You will," he replied absently. He looked at the rug reproachfully. "I didn't realize it'd leave a char-mark," and he half-heartedly knelt to repair the rug with his powers, which of course restored it to better than it was before the entire incident.
"Got a bit carried away again, didn't I?" and he moodily swung back into his chair. I nodded sagely- it's always recommended to look wise in the presence of immortals- and tactfully changed the subject.
"Do you know what you have scheduled today?" I asked. "Because if you're free, I know something that will cheer you up."
"Cheer? What need have I of cheer? I have my power, and my glory, and that is enough." The Valar turned to gaze moodily into the fireplace, sullen flames reflecting in his dark eyes.
"Are you sure?" I wheedled. "Don't want a break from blighting and… blighting?" I tactfully didn't mention whining as one of his daily rituals.
"Let's see," he answered ponderously, and pulled out a small black book from the pocket of his turtle neck with a distinctly god-like flair, performing small feats such as levitating the book in midair, letting it hover, that sort of thing.
He began to open it, but then peeked suspiciously at me. He closed it to nearly a crack, and began flipping the pages.
Most hunky god figures would keep women's numbers in a small black book, but not Melkor. His was a day planner, originally bought to schedule his counseling sessions. Melkor denied it, and once lectured me on the habits of a successful dark lord.
"A dark lord must be suave and sophisticated, organized, always on top of his game," the Valar paced about his study as I listened intently from my leather armchair. "And always classy. And what does it mean to be classy?" At this point he stopped pacing, and looked me in the eye. "I'll tell you what. Charming, modern, efficient. And that means… this." He waved his newly purchased little black book triumphantly.
"A list of ladies' phone numbers?" I asked quizzically.
My liege looked at me patiently. "No, a day planner. Think on it. This way, I'll always know my schedule each day, and look classy at the same time. Do you think anyone would take a conquering lord seriously if he didn't?"
I pondered this new development, and could only shrug. Obviously, this conversation had gone beyond mortal ken.
Melkor looked excited now, his eyes shining bright. "No, no, it all makes sense. Who would have taken Sauron seriously if he pasted sticky notes all over his tower? Especially where everyone could see; like, Monday: remember to purchase low carb hamburger buns for tomorrow's bar-b-que. No one, that's who! Really, if a dark lord can't remember his own grocery list, who would believe he could have the ability to amass huge armies and deploy them across Middle Earth? No, the little black book is far more impressive and efficient. It's your first step towards world domination, remember that."
I gazed sadly upon my friend, remembering when life had been more fun for him, worth living every day. Craning my neck, I could see that the pages of his planner were conspicuously blank.
"No, I'm booked for the day." Melkor snapped shut the book quickly, and stuffed it out of sight.
"Well, perhaps you should make time." I said sweetly. "After all, I know a certain elf whose been dying to see you."
"Feanor," he breathed, and I watched with contentment as life filled his eyes.