Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Here's the next part.
The Game of the Gods, 7
Morgoth placed the piece in the center of the board with absolute confidence, or confidence that might have been absolute if not for the fact that the piece fell over from his hand shaking so hard.
Varda gazed at the piece in concern. "Perhaps you should pick your Sue up, Melkor," she said. "You don't want her hurting her little head."
Morgoth started to answer, then glared at her. "You called me Melkor!"
Varda lifted her head so that she could look at him. "Yes," she said after a moment. "Do you mind that?"
"No one has called me that in a long time." Morgoth's hand clenched. "Except for Tulkas, of course, and that was only to taunt me. Honestly, I don't know how you stand him. He's so childish most of the time, gloating about how he beat me up."
"Of course he is," said Varda solemnly. "Because that is childish, while trying to destroy the world because you can't have it isn't."
Morgoth peered at her in pleasure. The light was actually dim enough around her now that he could almost see her clearly. "That is true. I'm glad you agree."
Varda rolled her eyes, then looked on the Sue and felt some mirth return. "Your move, Melkor."
Melkor bent and breathed on the Sue.
-----
Deirdre lifted her head and studied the sky. It was still gray and swollen with storm, of course, for the weeping the world had done in the wake of the War of Wrath.
But she wept more.
Deirdre sighed and turned her eyes gently to the land. The Telerin Elves in the ship around her bowed their heads and waited until she was deep in her trance of sorrow before they glanced up, shyly, at her. She was too beautiful to be looked at when she fixed her full attention on one person. She had glinting eyes that shifted colors with her moods, from bright gold when she was amused, to the soft gray that they were now, echoing the color of the sorrowful sky. Her long hair, golden as a Vanya's save for a single long black streak, hung to her ankles. But even that was subdued, and not only because of the glinting gray of the sky and the waves. Deirdre was always subdued, in sorrow for what she was and what she had come from and who her mother had been. Daughter of Lúthien and Mandos, born in the time when her mother danced before the Vala and won his heart-
-----
"Melkor!"
Morgoth grinned. Varda couldn't be that angry with him, or she wouldn't have called him by his favored name. "Yes?"
"That's sick."
Morgoth blinked. "I never thought I would hear you say something like that."
Varda just glared at him sharply and turned back to look at the Sue.
Morgoth officiously cleared his throat and started the sentence over from the beginning.
-----
Daughter of Lúthien and Mandos, born in the time when her mother danced before the Vala and won his heart-
----
"That still doesn't sound any better," said Varda, shaking her head. "Námo is so in love with Vairë it's disgusting."
"This is my story," said Morgoth dangerously. "If you don't like it, don't listen to it!"
There was a long pause, while Varda stared at him. "What," she said evenly, "was that all about?"
Morgoth shook his head, frowning. "I don't know, actually."
"I mean, if I can't listen to it, I can't tell-"
"Yes, I know," said Morgoth. "Let's return to Deirdre, shall we?"
----
She had been born of a true love, but a sorrowful one, given that Lúthien had a love waiting beyond the seas, and had at last gone away with him. So Deirdre had her glinting beauty, but it was doom-laden.
But not now, Deirdre promised herself, turning a misty gaze to the land, not noticing the way the Telerin Elves scrambled away from her eyes. Now I will make the world right again.
******
She went walking through the camp like a fallen star, and all around her Elves and Men bowed and gave way. Some who had never yet stopped marveling at the risen star of Eärendil turned to her, looked on her beauty, and began to weep, casting themselves to their knees, marveling that Eru himself in female form had descended from the heavens.
Deirdre did not notice the adulation; she was too modest for such things. She kept her eyes turned forward, and at last reached the one who stood guarding the treasures she had come for. Eönwë, herald of Manwë, bowed in sorrow before Deirdre, and then stood and gazed into her eyes. It was a struggle even for him to gaze upon her beauty, but far easier for a Maia than for a Man or an Elf.
"What have you come for, vanimelda?" he asked, using her name among everyone who loved her.
Deirdre ducked her head. "You know," she said softly. "This is my heritage, Eönwë. My mother won the Silmaril that shines in the sky back from Morgoth, and my father pronounced their doom. It is only fitting that I take the Silmarils now, and reverse that doom. In my hands, their light shall be released, and the Two Trees shall shine again in Valinor, and Men and Elves shall dwell in Aman side by side."
Eönwë might have objected, but one look into her eyes told him the truth. Deirdre was fit to take the Silmarils. There was no one better.
He bowed to her again, and stepped aside.
Deirdre moved gracefully forward towards those shining things. Her hands trembled just slightly as she reached out and picked them up, and for a moment held the fairest light in the universe. For the first time in her life, she found herself smiling with true joy.
Now to-
She screamed as the beauty in her hands turned abruptly to fire, fire that pained her, fire that cut and ate and burned at her. She wouldn't drop the Silmarils, but as she held them instinctively closer, they continued to burn. In a few seconds, they had eaten large holes in her chest, one the size of each Silmaril. Deirdre fell, dying, clutching the jewels, staring at the ceiling of the tent as it rippled in front of her eyes.
I don't understand! her mind wailed. The Silmarils burn only unhallowed things, and I am not- I am not-
The final indignity, as she saw it, was being abruptly shoved aside by two mere Elves who dashed into the tent, grabbed the Silmarils from her hands, and ran away again. And then, for no reason she knew at all, the red-haired one who had only one hand came back and kicked her in the ribs.
Then he dashed away, and Deirdre closed her eyes and passed into the Outer Darkness.
----
Morgoth stared at the board. "That's why you were calling me Melkor," he said. "You were doing it in pity for my loss."
Varda nodded. "For what," she murmured, "could be more unhallowed than a Sue?"
"Well, me," said Morgoth.
Varda nodded again, compelled to accept the justice of that. "You have another piece to play?"
Morgoth sat gazing at her for a moment, then smirked. "Yes, in fact I do." He drew forth a crowned piece.
Varda's face twisted. "Must you? That one is disgusting."
"As disgusting as the love of Námo and Vairë?" asked Morgoth slyly.
Varda looked at him. "You wouldn't..."
Morgoth lifted his chin stubbornly. "You let me play her, or I tell them what you said."
Varda sighed and waved a hand. "Go ahead."
Morgoth smiled smugly.
Although I wonder who's really more unhallowed...