By that time, the faction she was a (grudging) part of had swept most of the so-called Beleriand, and she had spearheaded much of that progress herself. Most of the factions she knew of – the House of Fingolfin, the southern Teleri and even, one day in the fourth month, Melkor himself – have been defeated, though mostly by Finrod and Galadriel themselves. It was not that they were doubting her loyalty or aptitude – such complicated emotions were evidently beyond the capability of the figures bearing familiar names – it just happened so that her path lay ever east and south, to the periphery. For a time, she was wondering what might happen if she would just break free of the confines of this battlefield, and venture far… but that was not to happen, as whenever she approached an invisible line marking the continent's eastern borders – which was, for some reason, painted somewhat short of the actual boundary of the Beleriand she knew – some unseen force would simply turn her around. She could not perceive anything – anything at all – much farther east than the rough locations of Himring, Nan Elmoth and Amon Ereb.
There was no way out… except fulfilling the objective, and then… At least so she hoped.
Nevertheless, victory – for a given value of such – was looming as days and weeks of combat and travels were zooming by, and messages were flashing before her sight every now and then: "Yellow player has been vanquished!" (that one had a coat of arms showing the Sun, never a symbol of the House of Fingolfin, for entirely obvious reasons...) "Orange player has been vanquished!" (mercifully she was not forced to move against those who were, in the real world, the not-so-distant kin of her husband, although the present Finrod had nothing but contempt for "these dastardly pirates"). Even the defeat of Melkor and his force – chiefly by Finrod – did not bring the end to this game, although she did take a time away from her own campaigning to visit Angband and the surrounding lands, if only out of some kind of morbid curiosity. Anfauglith did not disappoint: it manifested as a broken volcanic area, crisscrossed with lava streams and fiery mountains… that looked like decorations in a stage play, for even the red-hot magma did not seem to burn even when she would stand next to a stream of it. There was nothing she would call unfamiliar, by and large: towns and mines, dwellings that spawned orcs that were as fake-looking as the rest of the troops she had witnessed and employed... even sawmills standing amid painted groves of charred trees. The answer was not to be found there, so Melian left, although not before recruiting a dozen Black Dragons for her ranks. She appreciated the creatures, even though she had to fight some of them before – employed both by Melkor's forces and, oddly enough, the faction of the sons of Fëanor.
Then, one day, she heard of Melkor – or Morgoth, as her other enemy had dubbed him, she knew – returning. And it was a very strange comeback.
A huge figure wearing a dark red cloak appeared out of Nargothrond's tavern – just like she probably had, but this time, she was the beholder. The cowl covering the top of his face was pretty much like her own, she realised, but the rest of the face was clearly not human – nor elven, nor even orcish, for that matter, because none of these races have blue skin. Showing no visible surprise, he mounted a grey horse not unlike Melian's own – flying a red pennant, again similarly to her – as an army appeared behind him, and he appeared ready to move just like any other hero.
Melian was aghast. She could stomach the circumstances snaring the Children of Eru and warping them into what they were in this realm. She could even accept, however grudgingly, the fact that she herself has fallen victim to this ridiculous change – although she was in a different situation, at least remaining able to look at the world with a critical eye and question her existence. But to see a Vala, even a fallen one, to be also absorbed in this charade was a horrible revelation to her. It could only mean one thing – that this game was played by none other than Ilúvatar himself, as she had apparently fallen into his mind… somehow (she already hated this word with a passion, and would have stricken it out from the dictionaries of Sindarin if she had had the power to do so).
But maybe Melkor might have the same kind of insight as she had? There was no way that a Vala would have failed where a Maia has prevailed (if in a very loose sense of the word). After all, even when they were both shapeless like the world before the beginning of time, all of the Ainur knew Melkor to be the most powerful of their number. That he rebelled and fell from Eru's grace did not do much to change the fact. He had to have the knowledge!..
Melian did something she would never have expected from herself. She moved quickly to Melkor's side and addressed him frantically, imploring him to reveal his own thoughts on the situation.
For an untold amount of time, he appeared hesitant – but did not motion to either leave the premises, or attack. Then, his hand swept across his face, as if wiping away sticky cobwebs, and the horrible head moved slightly to nod.
"Yes, Lady Melian. I can see it now. It is lucky to have confirmation, because for quite a long time, I have been questioning my sanity".
He had been questioning it, Melian snorted inwardly – that ought to have been the understatement of the Age. As if it was not apparent that the whole situation has been crazy from the get go? Still, she knew that she had an ally now – someone who could have helped her in the quest for common sense. And so what if that someone was the person who had been – and likely would again become – the worst enemy of not only Doriath, the real Doriath, but also of all that she knew in the real world?