Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing that you may (or may not) recognize. All of it belongs to the marvelous JRR Tolkien.
AN: I would really appreciate any criticism you may have on this, please!
The Void was a dark and barren waste of nothingness, stretching on and on forever. No silver starlight shone in the blinding darkness, no warmth from the golden sun eased the bitter ache of cold emptiness, no scent, no smell, no feeling- an utterly devoid and forlorn place. It was impossible to imagine even the smallest life-form to live in such a condemned stretch of blackness, yet there was one that lived, and had grown used to knowing and feeling nothing, age upon age of nothing. He was a terrible being, dark and horrid, a menace to any and all living things.
He was waiting.
Suddenly, the smallest breath of wind passed through the Void and touched his face. He raised his dark head and gazed in the breeze's direction. A tiny pinprick of light, pale and beautiful, had appeared. As the light became clearer, the vague outline of a glowing figure was visible, growing and growing until it was its true size. A multitude of winds and breezes clamored about his form. Hurricane winds tugged at the ends of his pure blue garb, gales swept around him, and the tiniest whispers of wind, the beats of sparrow-wings, rippled through his hair. The figure spoke, his voice as loud as the crack of trees toppling, crueler than the wind that whistles about the mountain-peaks, yet softer than the flap of butterfly wings and as comforting as a summer breeze.
"You sent for me? Why? Speak!"
The dark figure smiled, showing his yellow, rotting teeth. "I have a proposition for a- a game of sorts, one may say, with high stakes." His voice, rasping and ghastly, grated upon the ears of the other. "Very high stakes."
"What sort of stakes?" the other said coldly.
The dark figure waved his hand, and an enormous model of Arda sprang up from the nothingness. "All of Arda."
"What is your game?"
"My servant Sauron has forged a great Ring of Power. He is under siege in his Tower, and the final battle is taking place. I will play one of you Valar for the dominion of Arda. If Sauron succeeds in breaking the siege, taking over Middle-earth, and I win, you release me from my imprisonment in the Void."
"And if you lose?"
"If Sauron is defeated and truly destroyed, then I withdraw him from Arda entirely, and leave every last orc, troll, and goblin at the mercy of Men and Elves. I shall never meddle in the business of Arda again. What say you, Manwë?"
"Every last demonic creation of yours destroyed, and you remain in your prison, with no protest from you at all?"
"Exactly."
"Swear to it. Swear in the name of one you see fit to."
The dark figure raised a hand and said, "I swear by the name of Iluvatar, creator of all, that if I should lose this game, I will allow all evil in Arda to be vanquished, and any ways I may have to poison the minds of Men and Elves shall be destroyed."
With that promise, Manwë smiled grimly. "Now I say we play."
The dark figure nodded, and lifted his hand. A second board appeared. It had a flat surface, and appeared to be blank. The figure's fingers twitched, and the surface swirled and focused upon Middle-earth, zooming in upon the siege of the Dark Tower, where two armies could be seen marching towards one another- an array of Men and Elves against an enormous horde of orcs. The image froze. On the first board, marble figures sprang into existence around the miniscule model of the Tower.
"Here are the pieces," the dark figure said. "The key figures of this battle, this last stand. Royalty, acclaimed warriors- Gil-Galad, Elendil, Isildur, Anarion, and others. If you wish to concern yourself with lesser soldiers, that is your affair- new pieces will be created if you wish for that to be so. I shall manipulate Sauron and his forces. The game shall endure until one side is ultimately defeated. Shall we make the rules?"
"Yes. Continue," said Manwë, his voice echoing with the timelessness of the heavens itself.
"No, after you," the dark one sneered softly.
"No giving the ability to do amazing feats. If a character is to be strong, then he will have had to work to be strong, not instantly have strength because you will it to be so."
"Only one Vala may play against me at a time. You may switch players if one of you is better suited to do something than the other, but you may not switch if we are in a key moment of the game, say the heat of a battle for example."
"Fair. My second rule is that neither side shall bring new characters into existence. You must not affect how fast the orcs are being produced for your armies, and we may not affect the birth of Men and how they are formed naturally. We must let creation continue as it is supposed to."
"No forcing someone to act against their will. If a key figure makes a decision that you dislike, you cannot make them change their mind. You cannot stop them from doing what they want to do."
"That is also fair. No giving direct information to key characters. If Sauron doesn't know that there is a plot to overthrow him that could possibly succeed, you cannot send a whisper into his ear telling him of the details. You may, however, give slight, minute warnings, such as sense of urgency if there is danger nearby."
"Fine. I believe these rules are enough to play by," the dark figure said, a glint of malice in his eye. Soon, he thought to himself, soon he may be free!
"Not entirely." Manwë stared at the dark figure before him. "No cheating. I know you well, Morgoth. No cheating at all. You may deceive and trick the Vala playing against you, and lie to them to veil your plot, but no cheating when making moves. None."
Morgoth glared at him venomously. One of his loopholes had collapsed. It was of little consequence. He had many more tricks and deceptions. He had thought of this carefully.
"Very well. I accept these rules. Do you?"
"I accept."
"Who shall be the first Vala to play me?"
Manwë walked over to the boards, Morgoth limping behind him.
"Fingolfin's wounds still pain you?"
Morgoth scowled, giving Manwë his answer. He smiled coldly, and analyzed the boards critically before speaking, the winds about him rustling restlessly. "I believe I know who will be fit to play- someone who had been waiting a long time to see you again," he said finally, a dark smile upon his face.
"And who may that be, O Wind-master?" queried Morgoth, a sadistic smile on his face. He wanted the battle to begin- he wanted to see destruction again and, if all went the way he wanted, soon become part of the mayhem once more. There were almost none he feared.
"Tulkas. He knows how to deal with battles. And with you."
Morgoth paled visibly, but said nothing. Tulkas, the one who had done battle with him when he had been known as Melkor, when the World had still been young. One of the few that had the ability to stir fear deep inside of Morgoth's blackened heart. Trust Manwë to think of him.
"Call for Tulkas," Morgoth said, "and then the game shall begin."