"This is an outrage!" Ulmo cried, pointing an accusing finger at Manwë. "You've endangered thousands of lives just so you can get your incompetent brother a post he doesn't deserve!"

"How dare you speak of my brother that way?" Manwë replied, bristling. "I'd have to be a fool to see you dislike him, Ulmo, but I will not hear you slander him by calling him incompetent!"

"Not incompetent, then," Oromë said, stepping between the feuding pair and staring Manwë down. "Self-obsessed, cruel, petty and dangerous, but not incompetent, at least!"

Manwë thrust his face into Oromë's until their noses touched. "I dare you," he hissed. "Talk to your superior officer like that, talk to me like that, one more time. I dare you!"

"MANWË!"

The volume of the Captain's shout shocked all back to reality. Eru stood behind his desk, red-faced and thunder-eyed. His broad old shoulders heaved with deep breaths. "You will stand down!"

Manwë cast his gaze to the floor, ashamed. He slowly turned from Oromë to face the captain, with Ulmo and Oromë following suit in silence. It hung over the room like a guillotine blade, a death-stroke ready to drop. Arda floated serenely beyond them out of the window behind the Captain, fluffy white clouds racing each other around the stratosphere.

"Are you really the best Ain has to offer?" Eru asked, mockingly. "I despair. You stand before your Captain and fight like boys, full of piss and vinegar! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, all of you!" His voice resounded in the small room and, Manwë was sure, would be just about audible through the bridge. He wasn't looking forward to leaving.

"Now, I know this is an awkward situation," Eru continued, leaning forward, "but final responsibility regarding senior officers rests with Commander Manwë."

"Not if you intervene in the name of the security of the race, Sir," Ulmo retorted, "as laid down in Article 6, Chapter-"

"Don't you quote regulations at me, boy!" Eru barked. "You don't think I know each and every one backwards?"

"I was only suggesting, Sir," Ulmo back-tracked, "that it may not be in our best interests to-"

"Be silent, Commander!" Eru ordered him. Ulmo's lips fastened into a tight line, hands curled into fists, trembling. "The fact is I happen to agree with Commander Manwë. Security is not a high priority for the very reasons he gives in his report – we're the only sentient creatures within a billion light-years and we control the weather! What are you worried about, the Marsh Men?"

Oromë growled deeply, rumbling in the chests of all around. Belittling a soldier's instinct with references to childhood make-believe monsters was never a good idea. "I've been a warrior all my life, Captain," he said quietly, eyes fixe d forward. "If I could distil everything I've learned into one sentence, it would be: Don't trust anything."

"And that includes plantlife, does it?" Manwë quipped.

"Shut up!" Eru shouted at him, pointing a vicious finger. "Lieutenant Commander, I understand your misgivings – really, I do – but I have to confess, with such an experienced and competent professional as yourself already part of the team-" Oromë huffed. Manwë had mollified him earlier with the same flattery; it would not work again. "-I see no need for any extra security precautions when Engineering is a department which could desperately do with another wise head, with all the work they'll be doing down there."

"With all due respect, Sir," Ulmo interjected, braving a wary eye from the Captain, "I don't believe Commander Melkor is necessarily a wise head. On multiple occasions he's demonstrated a wilful lack of regard to ship regulations which could have potentially endangered the entire mission-"

"Which is why he's not going to be alone," Eru replied. "Lieutenant – excuse me, Commander Aulë is under specific instruction to keep him on a short leash until he can learn some humility."

Ulmo paused, temporarily blindsided by the revelation of Aulë's apparent promotion and the Captain's complicity in controlling Melkor. Manwë's eyes bulged in surprise, for the same reason. "-a-and I have reason to believe," Ulmo continued, faltering, "that he issued a field commission to his romantic partner, Lieutenant Enwe, despite her not having the necessary qualifications or experience in Engineering to warrant one. I don't believe so, anyway," he finished dumbly.

Eru mulled over this information quietly. "Did he now?" He replied. "I was unaware the pair of them were lovers. We have regulations against that kind of thing."

"Since when did Commander Melkor care about those, Sir?" Oromë asked, eyes still snapped forward in a long-practised pose.

Eru sighed deeply, sounding more tired, more old, than he ever had. "Quite," he replied, turning away to gaze from the window. "Quite." Silence fell upon them once more, heavy and leaden and awkward. The three, still quietly furious despite their outward calmness, daren't speak up or even look at each other.

"I'll look into the Enwe matter," Eru said at length, hands held behind his back as he planet-gazed casually. "As for everything else; you will defer to Commander Manwë on this point. That's an order. And we will forget this ever happened. Now get out, all of you," he said quietly, cutting Manwë to the bone with his tone of voice. He knew it well from his childhood; the one his father had used so very often. I'm not angry, he would invariably say, I'm just very disappointed.

Ulmo gave an uncomfortable cough, turned on his heels and departed, followed soon after by Oromë's slow, plodding steps. The deathly silence of the bridge returned to loud chatter the moment the hulking man had stepped through the door. Manwë lingered a second or two after the door closed.

"Yes, Sir," he replied, before turning for the door.

"Manwë," Eru called after him softly. He turned back to face the Captain. "Keep an eye on him," he said.

Manwë nodded, under no illusions over to whom the captain was referring "I will, Sir."

"No, I mean it," Eru replied, his voice strained and cracking. "You keep a damn close eye on him," he reiterated, darkly. "I've already lost one planet too many." He turned back to Arda and sighed, watching as his breath crackled against the force field. Manwë swallowed hard and exited without another word.

From every angle, he could feel eyes burning into him, glancing furtively from corners or flickering up from tablets as he stalked the corridors, ignoring them all in his quiet rage. The wound Melkor had inflicted on him cut deep, and seemed to bore deeper and deeper into him the longer he thought about it. A senseless act of petty recrimination for a scolding had cost him the trust of a good officer, and quite possibly the friendship of a good man.

A young ensign went flying as Manwë rounded a corner and barged straight into him, utterly unheeding. Protests and calls rose up, but they washed over him as if he had been deafened. Only one thing mattered – he needed to find his brother, and have a very, very serious talk with him.

Nienna sat on her bed, feet curled beneath her in her usual pose, staring at the wall and the projection of rain falling over the steamy groves of her home country before the Blight had come. She missed the rain, and the colour green. Both were ubiquitous in her childhood; a lush, verdant paradise baked dry by the sun in the dog days and quenched by downpours so violent her people had long thought it was the sweat of the Sun itself, exhausted from its effort. Come spring, after the rain but before the sun, there were blissful months of running through fragrant forests and climbing up trees that seemed as old as the world itself, surrounded everywhere by flowers and insects of turquoise, mauve and amber, but always that iridescent green so beloved of Ain. An eight-winged insect flew across the wall, flashing coruscating scales, momentarily transporting Nienna back home.

"I wish I could have shown you Estëhan in its glory days," she muttered. "The way the sun in spring seemed to shine straight through the leaves of the water-bearer plants that covered every wall and building, casting everything in the same green glow…as though we were all truly children of nature. No races, no sects…just the same green on all of us."

The recording skipped. The illusion was broken. Nienna swallowed sadly and averted her eyes, not content to feast on the memories of a dead planet anymore. "That was so horrible," she said, "what happened in there today." She pulled her knees under her chin and held herself tight. "You don't know what it's like," she said, sniffling, "being Touched. I can hear it all the time – the internal monologue, the struggle. You wouldn't believe the amount of energy some people have to expend – the arguments they have to have in their head – just to be normal. It's…it's maddening!" She sniffed loudly and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Thirteen people all shouting at once, and inside so angry, so hurt, so afraid…I've never been in a room so full of anger before, and I've been a therapist for twenty years!" A hand reached out to stroke her shoulder gently as she began to rock.

"Our emotions will kill us, in the end," she muttered. "They're the most powerful force in the universe. Each of us, no matter how hard we try to suppress it, feels so very, very keenly that you wouldn't believe it – even if they don't realise it. All of them in there – inside, they were screaming. Screaming the most violent, horrible things, inside their head – I don't think they were even aware of most of them. Underneath all the shouting and arguing, no matter how eloquent or forceful it is, beneath it all is an animal." She sniffed again, loudly. "Greedy, selfish, and blind."

Soft lips brushed at the nape of Nienna's neck, arms wrapping around her from behind. A breath against her skin whispered I'm so sorry. She pulled away, forcing apart the slender fingers laced across her midriff.

"I know you love him," she said into emptiness, staring out of the window as if vainly looking back home. A different silence filled the room; cold and awkward. "Please don't say you don't," she whispered, her face wrinkling with imminent tears. "I mean it – I know. I can hear it. I'm like a…like a fresh burn that can feel a breeze like it was sandpaper, I can feel and hear everything, and…" She buried her face in her knees to sob. "I don't want you to lie to me."

Nessa slid across the bed to sit next to Nienna, wrapping her arm around her waist as she heaved silently. "I don-" she tried to say. "I-" Words failed her again. Anger rose up in her, sending her freckled cheeks bright pink. Anger at Nienna, for knowing her better than she did; anger at Manwë, for taking Tulkas from her, quite possibly forever; anger at Melkor, for cutting her heart out in public so blithely. Anger at herself for having taken so long to realise. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks, quite unnoticed, as she buried her face into the crook of Nienna's neck.

"I don't know what to do", she whined. "Two weeks and I'm never going to see him again."

Nienna snorted loudly, her face a mess of tears. "You can still resign," she said, searching through the pockets of her dressing-gown for a handkerchief, "if you want. If you'd rather be…with him," she finished glumly.

Nessa sunk down to lay her head on Nienna's lap, who stroked her lover's hair tenderly as she cried silently. "I don't know what I want," she croaked, as memories of long-gone Estëhan bathed them both in artificial green.

Melkor paced the length of his office, lost in thought. The fallout from the disastrous ending to Arda Mission's first confab were still being felt days later. The officers had split into two informal factions; one defending Manwë's actions as being – and Melkor couldn't help a wry smile when he thought of it – in the best interests of the Colony, and the other claiming he was putting them all in danger for the sake of nepotism. His brother had tried to speak to him immediately after the meeting, but Melkor had swiftly laid low and Manwë had been practically frog-marched to the Captain's office by Oromë. Cocooned in his office, his communicator permanently set to Busy, he was divorced from the world; all he had to do was wait.

"Permission to speak, Sir," Enwe, sitting on the desk, asked sarcastically. Melkor stopped his pacing and turned to face her.

"Go on."

"Will you please sit down?" Melkor scowled and carried on pacing. Enwe rolled her eyes. "Do you really think Commander Manwë is going to batter down the door and drag you out?" Melkor looked sheepishly at her.

"The thought had crossed my mind," he mumbled, eyes darting to the slit in the door.

"Forget it. From what I've heard, he's in enough trouble anyway," she replied, piquing Melkor's interest. "Ulmo's and Oromë are considering formally contesting Manwë's suitability for the post of Commander of Arda."

"What? How do you know this?" Melkor asked. Enwe smiled, inspecting her nails.

"I've worked in a lot of different departments," she said with a smirk, "spun a few webs. People will trust you with anything if they think you're stupid," she muttered, long lashes fluttering.

Melkor's brain went into overdrive. What would this mean for his position on Arda? Could Manwë survive such a concerted political attack? If he couldn't, the first thing the new Commander would do would be to review Melkor's position as a senior officer, with a bleak outcome highly likely. He turned and paced again.

"Oh, calm down!" Enwe said, exasperated, throwing herself into Melkor's chair and slinging her legs onto the desk. "You don't need to be planning the next step in the Grand Plan already. Time is on your side. Let them fight it out while they still think you're just an egomaniac."

Melkor froze, caught somewhere between insulted and amazed. "What are you talking about?" He said, feigning innocence. Enwe scoffed.

"Don't even try to pretend with me," she said. "They may not see it, but I do. You want it. You want Arda," she said triumphantly, smiling as Melkor's chest swelled at being found out. "Relax," she sighed, "I won't tell. I'd like to see that prick brought down a peg or two myself."

"That's not all it is," Melkor retorted. "Manwë and Eru want to make a paradise where we can all die out in banal safety, like some cosmic retirement home. I want us to live, don't you see!" He hissed, looming over the desk as much as his slight frame would allow. "I want an Ain race fire-forged by the heat of tribulation, not generations of spoiled princelings!"

"You can have it," Enwe reassured him, leaning forward to being her face close to his, "if you are bold. You've been clever so far, but now you must be decisive. The Valar are fighting amongst themselves and the Maiar look up to you more than any of their other officers.

"What are you suggesting?" Melkor whispered dangerously, his breath dancing on Enwe's lips, sending her pulse racing.

"A coup," she breathed, "when they're least expecting it. The crewmen will follow you – they know you represent order and wisdom, more than any…committee ever could. The old Kings took their prizes at the tip of a sword – why not you?"

Melkor smiled, impressed. "When did you become such a political animal?" He whispered as Enwe's fingers grace his chest.

"I have a wide range of interests," she whispered back, unbuttoning the neck of his jumpsuit. "I'm not just a pretty face."

Melkor's face split into a cruel grin as he grabbed Enwe's wrists tightly and pulled her out of her chair, making her squeal in surprise. "No, you're not," he growled, kissing her passionately. At that moment, predictably, the bell at the door sounded. Melkor's smile dropped into a rictus of terror.

"Don't," Enwe whispered desperately, "Ignore it. Please," she moaned as she kissed his stony face. He glanced down to the monitor beneath them and sighed in annoyance, letting her wrists go with some reluctance.

"Come!" he called. Enwe crossed her arms petulantly as Mairon entered.

"Well, as if the mood wasn't ruined enough," she mumbled under her breath, eyeing the young lieutenant darkly, who returned the favour.

"Stand down, Lieutenant," Melkor addressed Enwe, "he's one of us." Mairon bowed deeply.

"There are others?" Enwe asked. "You told him before me?" she added with distaste.

"You're not the only one who agrees with Lord Melkor's plans," Mairon countered her. Melkor smirked smugly, enjoying being referred to by his aristocratic title; after all, since Manwë had publicly forsworn their father's estate, was it not his by right?

"I think Mairon had something to say before you interrupted him, Enwe," Melkor said, eyeing the young man proudly.

"Thank you, Sir," he replied as Enwe huffed. "I have a potential ally for our cause, Sir. An Ensign in Geosat. I can vouch for him."

"Does the Child King have a name?" Enwe asked, cocking her head at Mairon.

"I'd rather not say here," Mairon replied, not taking his eyes from Melkor, "one can't be too careful until one is sure. But there's fervour in this one's eyes, Sir, and fire." he said, his mouth curling into a prideful smile.

"You told him nothing of our designs?" Melkor pressed him.

"No, Sir, he suspects nothing. But he is outspoken in his wish for a more potent and practical leader; your name is received with high favour. His commanding officer spoke of him as the brightest light Geosat has to offer."

Melkor turned to pace his office again. "Keep an eye on him," he instructed Mairon, "a few more officers on my side will make this easier."

"He's an Ensign," Enwe scoffed, "Barely an officer. Barely out of short trousers, even!"

"Perhaps his Lordship is looking to foster a new generation in his methods," Mairon retorted, colour beginning to rise in his cheeks.

"Oh, I think 'his Lordship' is more than capable of defending his decision," Enwe said, closing the distance between them. She barely reached Mairon's throat, but stared up at him with implacable hatred. The two of them had been at loggerheads since they had met; Mairon, fond as he was of Aulë, had refused at first to work with a woman he considered an underqualified usurper. Only some shuttle diplomacy by his beloved Commander had convinced him to work with Enwe; even so, the pair vehemently and palpably disliked each other.

Melkor calmly slid an arm between the pair. "Is that all, Lieutenant?" he asked Mairon, his voice low and threatening.

"Yes, Sir," Mairon replied, "sorry, Sir. Permission to be excused."

"Granted."

Mairon left the office haughtily, flicking his black curls like an exclamation point. Enwe vocalised her displeasure once the door shut. "Of all the jumped-up, sycophantic little prigs, you pick that frui-"

Melkor's arm shot out and grabbed Enwe by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her eyes bulged as his long, strong fingers squeezed on her windpipe, her legs kicking out futilely.

"You seem to be forgetting a few things lately, Lieutenant," he growled, his voice a quiet rasp, "not least of all exactly who is in charge here. I will not tolerate you speaking on my behalf, or making decisions for me. I know what I'm doing. Are you suggesting I don't?"

Enwe gasped for air, her hands clutching to Melkor's wrist to support herself. She shook her head as much as his grasp would allow.

"This is my destiny," he hissed into her ear, flecking her cheek with spittle, "no-one else's. You don't seem to appreciate just how fortunate you are to be a part of it – at my side, no less! And you insult me in this way? How dare you?" His voice began to break into a tremulous whine, like a child not understanding why his pet wouldn't wake; betrayed, confused, and hurt.

"I'm sorry," Enwe gasped, purple veins beginning to burst in her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Melkor-" she croaked before gasping for breath again. Tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes as her heels scraped the wall. Without warning Melkor let her fall, sending her into a pile on the cold metal floor. Melkor watched as she shuddered and coughed, seething.

"You are dismissed, Lieutenant," he hissed, "and don't come back until you're ready to apologise." He stepped over her prostrate body on his way to his chair, and so absorbed himself in his work he barely even registered his lover crawling out of the door.