Ehm. Hi?

So this is my first attempt at writing a work of fan fiction in Tolkein's marvellous universe. I'm…fairly nervous. To be honest, I'm worried that what I've written – this attempt at a sort of philosophical look at Melkor's background – is just so much talking out of my arse. I'd really appreciate some feedback on this.

Standard disclaimers apply, of course. Last I checked I was not related in any way to Tolkein, so I can't really own anything.


He began as nothing more than an awareness, a knowledge of mere existence. For a timeless age he merely was, merely existing and knowing of his existence. Slowly an identity formed, a sense of being: "I Exist."

For a moment later, the thought "Who am I" defined him, before he knew a word, a name, as yet meaningless to him.

He knew he was Melkor.

What Melkor was, who Melkor was besides himself, anything beyond "I am Melkor" remained unknown to him.


Time passed.

How much time, he did not know. The notion of the passage of time had not yet entered his psyche.


Light and dark! They were all around him. There was light, there was dark, there was more light, there more dark. For uncounted aeons, he simply saw the light and the dark, not yet comprehending their nature.


He was not alone. The lights each had names. That one, the biggest, was Manwë. That other was Varda. There was Ulmo, there were Aulë and Yavanna. He knew the names of all of them, but how many there were he did not know – they were many and many and more. How he knew their names he did not know, but he did, and he gazed at them for ages.

He wished he were like them.

For the first time, he felt an emotion.

Longing.

He longed to be bright, to be of the light as they were.

He did not yet comprehend his own light.


A second emotion, and a third and fourth and fifth, he now knew. They were loneliness – he realised he was alone, that the lights were together and he apart; shame – he was not as they were, not beautiful and bright, or so he thought, and so he was ashamed; sadness – his shame led into sadness, for his perceived inferiority and loneliness; and despair – he knew, or thought he did, that he would ever be alone and ashamed and sad.

He still longed.


A sixth emotion he knew. Anger.

Why was he not like them? Why was he not light?

He raged – at what, he did not know. But he raged. Why he asked, of nothing and everything.

And still he longed.


Short, I know. I felt it was best to break it there. More is coming. Again, please do review this, tell me what you think.