A/N: Enjoy and don't shy away from leaving a comment.
4.
Melkor spoke true; he wasn't, in general, an idiot. He realized what was at stake - he was painfully aware of the state of his realm after first a centuries-long siege and then a great battle.
He also had just been presented to a handsome young Vanya with hair like silver moonlight. The elf's face seemed kind and yet inscrutable, and despite his rightful anxiety his presence felt strangely peaceful. All of this got Melkor curious. Back in Valinor, the Ainu hardly ever talked to any Vanyar; extremely wary of the dark Vala, they would ever remain polite but distant.
It's not like he seriously thought about seducing the son of Ingwë… and one of the most devoted followers of Varda, judging by the tiny star pendant hanging from his neck.
Well, maybe a little.
Not as much in the way of "sway to the Dark Lord's side" as "get a tiny bit closer than diplomatic protocol requires, just enough familiar to leave Varda's boy forever thinking: what if? Forever fantasizing about things no decent Elda should ever entertain even in their wildest dreams".
The Dark Lord's life had been filled with sadness and boredom for such a long time, he simply deserved it.
He sort of zoned out listening to all his and Sauron's titles. A werewolf, one of a handful of dark shadows to Melkor's left, discreetly vomited something it had eaten and which had been a thing that shouldn't have been eaten and couldn't be digested even by a stomach as resistant to poison as a werewolf's. Melkor wondered what it could've been.
The quiet voice of the elf brought him back to the more pressing matters and his eyes focused on the young Vanya, who so simply introduced himself. He approved of his bravery; the Minya not even flinched when the titanic iron gate closed far behind him, the ray of light swallowed by darkness, that flooded to reclaim the total rule in the great hall where the torches and luminescent fungi growing on the walls and ceiling provided a mere mockery of the light, never able to illuminate more than a bit of the area.
For that unwavering, foolish bravery, Melkor rewarded Ingwion, in his very own way. He graced the guest with a smile. It was the kind of smile that lures you into an enchanted forest where you get drowned in an enchanted stream (or perhaps, in this case, an enchanted volcano).
Thuringwethil glanced at Sauron who gave a barely-there nod, so she took a small breath and spoke again in the silence filling the great hall.
"Ingwion Lindaingwё of the House of Ingwё, the Crown Prince of the Minyar, the High Prince of the Quendi, the Rose Spear of Taniquetil, the champion of the Elder Queen."
"By the will of the Valar, the ambassador of Aman," the elf added softly, his surprise clear in his face.
Sauron smirked inwardly; it seemed the foolish elf had thought them so inept in subtle ways of spying to not gather intel about him. It was only right to see who the Valar had chosen to represent the elves. And they had chosen a Vanya, who had no previous interaction with those hailing from Angband. He was not familiar with the land, nor with the intricate web of Noldorin and Sindarin politics of Beleriand. He looked young and innocent, shyly looking down to avoid the gaze of the two dark Ainur. Sauron wondered what had possessed the Valar - or worse yet, the elves - to choose him over so many others. He had to have some skills, for now hidden from Sauron, and the Maia disliked the fact that his lord wanted to lead the treaty talks alone. He knew his liege was cunning and a skilled liar, but he was easily distracted and often fell victim to a lie or his own whims.
"Welcome to Angband, son of Ingwë," the Dark Lord spoke. "Forgive us any lapses of etiquette that may happen, you are the first of your kind who comes here of their own will, and not in chains. And who is intended to be let out after our - hopefully fruitful - talks."