"For now, more than in the days of Utumno ere his pride was humbled, his hatred devoured him, and in the dominion of his servants and the inspiring of them with lust of evil he spent his spirit. Nonetheless his majesty as one of the Valar long remained, though turned to terror, and before his face all save the mightiest sank into a dark pit of fear."

- J.R.R. Tolkien, Quenta Silmarillion

Nine: Flirting With Death

I stood in a window, facing west. In darkness I stood, of darkness I thought, of the death of the two trees. What would I see if I flew across the sea, now? Some new light raised to replace the trees, like they had replaced the lamps? Or Valimar in lantern-lit darkness, elves huddling in their homes, the fear of defeat in their eyes? The Valar preparing for war?

I thought of Eönwë then, and Fanian, and when I realized I might see them together, black jealousy swallowed my heart. Sooner or later Eönwë, mighty that he was, would succeed in what I had failed and vanquish the walls Fanian had built around her broken heart. I no longer loved her, but it irked me that another might know her, and all the secrets of her lovely flesh. If she could not be mine she should not be anyone's. Then I think it first occurred to me that I might one day desire to kill Fanian.

The window was small and set high in the wall, so I could lean my elbows on the sill. There was no glass – we had more than enough warmth in Angband, with the fires of the earth itself to heat the very walls around us. I was not wearing my wings – Sauron had taught me how to discard them like a garment when I did not need them.

Someone entered the room. Bright white light drew my shadow sharp on the windowsill. I straightened my back, trembling, afraid to turn my head lest I become dust and ashes in that light.

'My Lord Morion.'
'Call me Morgoth. I am told Feänor named me so, in his hatred, and I find the name apt in all its crudeness.'
'As you wish, my Lord.'
'Your name, in the language of the elves, would be Thuringwethil.' He came closer and set his hands on my shoulders.
'Mmm. I like the sound of that.'
His finger brushed my neck.
'However, what I do not like, my Lord, is how easily you endangered my life.'
'When have I done such a thing?'
'Just now, my Lord, by stepping into this room unannounced. Had I been facing the door, I would have perished by the light of the Silmarils.'
'I did not realize – I know you avoid light, but not that it is an actual danger to you.'
I explained to him in detail my weakness, lest he doubt me or danger me again so casually, for truly I feared the Jewels of Feänor.
'I see. This fragility of yours, it intrigues me. You see, there are few that I can trust these days. Few that do not secretly lust for the Silmarils, for the crown I wear.'
'Which is why you will not uncrown yourself, is it not, my Lord?'
'True. But Thuringwethil, you I can trust. The Jewels are death to you.'
'Indeed, my Lord.'
'You are shaking, Thuringwethil. Are you afraid?'
'Yes, my Lord. How could I not be, with my death so near me?'
'If you wish, I will go away.'
'I do not know what I wish. I do not wish to disappoint you, my Lord. I wish you to trust me, as you once did.'
'Ah, Thuringwethil.'
His left hand embraced me, feeling the shape of my body, and looking down I saw the hand was burned black. He, too, knew the pain the Silmarils caused, and had decided to endure it. I wished I were strong enough to make choices like that, but reminded myself I was only a Maia. His right hand, likewise burned, as I would later see, opened the clasps that held my hair in place. As my hair streamed down he pressed his face into it.

So. The King of the World wanted of me only what Sauron had wanted, alone and haunted by nightmares deep in the pit of our cowardice. I realized how alone our Lord must feel on his high throne, under the weight of the Iron Crown. I did not pity him; all such feelings had died in me long ago. I only thought of how best to take advantage of the situation.

He spoke to me then of all he seen in Aman; he told me the Valar could be deceived. He described the mightiest of the Ainur and the Eldar and their weaknesses. Of Feänor he spoke and his greed, of Finwë's death and of Ungoliant.

While he spoke he undressed me and explored my body. His burned hands were rough on my flesh.

No, not for me would the Mighty One uncrown himself! And so he had me from behind, like a beast, and just as roughly. He gave no thought for how I felt – why would that concern him? I was his slave, his creature. It was my duty to please him.

And yet – when I screamed it was no pretense, no false pain nor pleasure.

It was the single most intense thing I had ever felt, having him inside me. He was power, he was glory, he was darkness itself. And I realized new chains now bound me to him. I would do much to feel that fire again. Nothing the Valar had ever given me or could possibly promise me would feel so bone-chillingly good.

He was Melkor. I feared him with all that was in me. And he desired me, and I desired him.

For I was his woman.

No, not the only one. There were a few others, and I had heard their screams in the night, watched their shadows cast by that terrible light of the Silmarils. I had not known at the time whether the screams were of pain or pleasure – now I knew they were both. Another secret, but by no means the most important one I learned that night.

For the Dark Lord Morgoth had told me much in his lust and in his relish of having, at last, a trustable servant who did not desire the Silmarils.

I think I then knew more of Feänor than what Feänor knew of himself.

Morgoth did not speak to me, when he left the room. I, knowing my place, knew better than to speak to him. Silently I tasted the lingering shadows of his touch on me and inside me, and with that glow I relished all the delicious secrets I had learned of him, of myself, and of the distant West.

And then I dressed myself in crimson silk woven by blind spiders in an underground cave, and I went to Sauron, for he was expecting me that night.

Before this chapter, Quenyan names have been used in this manuscript instead of forgotten or secret Valarin ones. From now on, Quenya is used for itself, as is Sindarin.

Note: Of all my stories this one is my personal favourite. I think I will write many, many more chapters to it. The first versions of these last three were written a long time ago, but I was not satisfied them so I let them wait for a while in hope of new ideas, which I did indeed find. Originally I intended Thuringwethil not to enjoy her intercourse with Melkor – but then I realized that she most likely would. He is, after all, the mightiest of the Ainur…

- A.I.