#HAD A PART IN ALL OF HIS DEEDS UPON ARDA.

[eilinelsghost]

(Medium) Hot Take: "Did the Oath actually condemn Fëanor & his sons to the Everlasting Darkness" is the wrong question because it has a clear textual answer: which is "no."

Did it have the power to do so? That's another question entirely and a fun one to debate.

But did it? Absolutely not.

Because each of the sons of Fëanor (and Fëanor himself) fulfilled their Oath. Nowhere in the various drafts of the Oath is there a version where they call down the Everlasting Darkness if they fail to retrieve a Silmaril. What they actually swear is:

an oath of enmity for ever against any that should hold the Silmarils The Book of Lost Tales, Part One

shall no law nor love nor league of Gods, no might nor mercy, not moveless fate, defend him for ever from the fierce vengeance of the sons of Fëanor, whoso seize or steal or finding keep the fair enchanted globes of crystal whose glory dies not, the Silmarils. The Lays of Beleriand, The Flight of the Noldoli

no law, nor love, nor league of hell, no might of Gods, no binding spell, shall him defend from hatred fell of Fëanor's sons, whoso take or steal or finding keep a Silmaril. The Lays of Beleriand, The Lay of Leithian: Canto IV

neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, not Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin, whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh, finding keepeth or afar casteth a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed faileth. Morgoth's Ring; Fifth section of the Annals of Aman

they swore an oath [...] calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not; [...] vowing to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the World Vala, Demon, Elf or Man as yet unborn, or any creature, great or small, good or evil, that time should bring forth unto the end of days, whoso should hold or take or keep a Silmaril from their possession. The Silmarillion; Of the Flight of the Noldor

Every version of the Oath that includes the Everlasting Darkness calls it down upon them only if they do not pursue the perceived thief with vengeance and hatred. The only variance from this is in the version from the Annals of Aman where one could conceivably link the Everlasting Darkness with a failure to kill whosoever took a Silmaril. But this version is replaced by the consistent form shown in all other iterations (the same form that is included in the published Silmarillion) and consequently doesn't hold much weight for the argument.

Fëanor and each of his sons (save Maglor who survives the First Age with a Silmaril in his possession) met their ends in pursuit of this exact clause - pursuing those who hold a Silmaril with vengeance and hatred - and consequently dying in fulfilment of their Oath. Which is to say that even if we do hold that the Oath had the power to damn them to the Everlasting Darkness (which it very well may have!), it would not, could not, and did not do so because the terms were met.

And even setting the specific wording of the Oath, the text tells us exactly what happens to one who dies in pursuit of the Oath while still not regaining a single Silmaril: "...[Fëanor's] likeness has never again appeared in Arda, neither has his spirit left the halls of Mandos" (The Silmarillion, Of the Return of the Noldor).

So yes, the Oath might have had the power to send them into the Everlasting Darkness, but it did not have the grounds to do so. And so it did not.

[fixing-bad-posts]

‘In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself.’    —The Silmarillion, “Valaquenta”

[cuthalions]

Among those of his servants that have names, the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. In his beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people. In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.

— THE SILMARILLION, VALAQUENTA: OF THE ENEMIES

[hailturinturambar]

“In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself.”

The Silmarillion by J. R. R. Tolkien

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Full article: here.

This connects with the Elrond = Sauron theory, here and here.

Melian of the Valar and Anger Issues:

In his interview to Decider, explaining the kiss, Robert Aramayo also talks about this:

Specifically, Adar namedrops Melian, one of Elrond’s most important ancestors. Aramayo explained how hearing this father of the orcs talk so intimately about Melian was meant to perfectly unsettle the young(er) elf. “It shows a real deep understanding for the history of Middle-Earth. You know, there’s something about Melian, isn’t there? The ‘Girdle of Melian,’ the sort of the protective sphere that she [creates], the power of her, and what she sort of represents in the lore and stuff,” Aramayo said. “So it’s impressive that he would bring it up in that moment.”

Why is this strange? Firstly, Elrond and his future daughter Arwen never get compared to Melian herself in the lore, but rather to her Half-Maia daughter, Lúthien (Arwen is pretty much described as “Lúthien 2.0.”, and even her love story with Aragorn is Lúthien x Beren, part 2).

According to Rob, the mention of Melian by Adar is what triggers his anger, and what causes Elrond to act OOC in that scene. Which doesn't make any sense, because Elrond would be proud and honored by such a comparison, actually (and it has nothing to do with his beauty).

The only character who would get this triggered by the mention of Melian is Sauron himself, because:

1) His fellow Maia was a thorn in his side (and Morgoth's) for pretty much the entire First Age and the War of Wrath;

Beyond lay the wilderness of Dungortheb, where the sorcery of Sauron and the power of Melian came together, and horror and madness walked. Of Beren and Lúthien, Part I

2) Melian's daughter (Lúthien) was responsible for Sauron's most humiliating and spectacular defeat by bringing Huan (the Hound of Valinor), with her to Tol-in-Gaurhoth (Isle of Werewolves, where Finrod, Galadriel's brother, died protecting Beren from the werewolves). This is when Sauron shapeshifts into a giant werewolf to fight Huan, and gets defeated.

Halbrand/Mairon: Whose dagger was it, Galadriel? Who is it you lost? Galadriel: My brother. Halbrand/Mairon: What happened to him? Galadriel: He was killed. In a place of darkness and despair [Tol-in-Gaurhoth]. By servants of Sauron [werewolves]. Is that enough for you? Galadriel tells Halbrand about her brother’s, Finrod, death, 1x05 

(Sorry not sorry, I had to). 

In the lore, Sauron disappears for a very long time after this defeat, and “Rings of Power” already mentioned how he was tortured beyond belief by Morgoth (this implies that, after losing a strategic stronghold to “a girl and her dog”, Sauron most likely was imprisoned and tortured by Morgoth somewhere). 

Lúthien/Beren parallel:

The "tent/kiss scene" itself, in 2x07, is a parallel to Beren and Lúthien, and the quest to retrieve one Silmaril from Morgoth’s crown, which would lead to their fight with Sauron (and Finrod’s death later on):

But Thingol looked in silence upon Lúthien; and he thought in his heart: 'Unhappy Men, children of little lords and brief kings, shall such as these lay hands on you, and yet live?' Then breaking the silence he said: 'I see the ring, son of Barahir, and I perceive that you are proud, and deem yourself mighty. But a father's deeds, even had his service been rendered to me, avail not to win the the daughter of Thingol and Melian. See now! I too desire a treasure that is withheld. For rock and steel and the fires of Morgoth keep the jewel that I would possess against all the powers of the Elf-kingdoms. Yet I hear you say that bonds such as these do not daunt you. Go your way therefore! Bring to me in your hand a Silmaril from Morgoth's crown; and then, if she will, Lúthien may set her hand in yours. Then you shall have my jewel; and though the fate of Arda lie within the Silmarils, yet you shall hold me generous.' Thus he wrought the doom of Doriath, and was ensnared within the curse of Mandos. And those that heard these words perceived that Thingol would save his oath, and yet send Beren to his death; for they know that not all the power of the Noldor, before the Siege was broken, had availed even to see from afar the shining Silmarils of Fëanor. For they were set in the Iron Crown, and treasured in Angband above all wealth; and Balrogs were about them, and countless swords, and strong bars, and unassailable walls, and the dark majesty of Morgoth. But Beren laughed. 'For little price,' he said, 'do Elven-kings sell their daughters: for gems, and things made by craft. But if this be your will, Thingol, I will perform it. And when we meet again my hand shall hold a Silmaril from the Iron Crown; for you have not looked the last upon Beren son of Barahir.' Then he looked in the eyes of Melian, who spoke not; and he bade farewell to Lúthien Tinuviel, and bowing before Thingol and Melian he put aside the guards about him, and departed from Menegroth alone. Of Beren and Lúthien, Part I

Here, "Thingol" is Adar, who presents "Elrond" (Beren) with the choice of handing over the Silmaril (Nenya) in exchange for Lúthien (Galadriel): "The Ring for Galadriel's life. What is it to be?"

Which means, the comparison with Melian is odd ("You [Elrond] have the beauty of your foremother, Melian of the Valar"), because there is no direct parallel between Elrond/Melian happening here.

Then, why is Elrond parallelling Beren in this scene? He’s a Half-Elf who decided to retain his immortality (Half-Elves get to do that, and that’s why Arwen chooses mortality to be with Aragorn). He’s not a mortal man like Beren, nor is he in love with an she-Elf of legendary beauty and power.

There is another character who can make sense in this context, and that’s Halbrand (Sauron’s human form). Mostly now that the executive producers of the show, Charlotte Brändström, revealed that Galadriel was in love with Halbrand (direct parallel with Lúthien x Beren).  

Morgoth’s crown is also nearby (we know that Adar not only has it, but actually show it to Galadriel in this very tent, in 2x06), and the Balrog is also there (at the mines of Moria, in Khazad-dûm).

Interestingly enough, Sauron is the one who mentions Beren in Season 2 of “Rings of Power” (and he must have been dying inside talking about it): 

Yes. You are right. Of course. Men are capable of great frailty. But when the darkness falls, there are always some who rise forth and shine. Eärendil, Tuor, Beren, son of Barahir. Sauron/Annatar tries to persuade Celebrimbor to forge the Nine rings of power, 2x05

And the plot thickens because Eärendil is Elrond’s father, and son of Tuor (Elrond’s grandfather who married Elwing, Lúthien and Beren’s granddaughter). “Rings of Power” Season 2 pretty much went through all of Elrond’s genealogy, in scenes with Sauron and Adar.

After Beren and Lúthien rescued a Silmaril from Morgoth's Iron Crown, this was later given to their descendant Elwing, wife of Eärendil. Both took it to Aman, and the Valar decided to rise it as a new star. In a vessel appointed by Elbereth, Eärendil rose in the horizon as a sign of hope for Elves and Men. And this is the light that shines in both Galadriel’s mirror and the Phial of Galadriel (which she gives to Frodo to help him in his quest to destroy the One Ring = Sauron).

And to further strength the parallel between Nenya/Silmaril in the “tent scene” of 2x07, the fate of Fëanor’s Silmarils is also connected to the Three Elven rings of power: 

“Fire” = Maedhros threw himself into a fissure of fire in the earth, carrying his Silmaril with him. “Narya” is the “Ring of Fire”, and its current ring-bearer is Círdan (but it will pass onto Gandalf, later). 

“Air”: connects to Eärendil becoming a star in the skies. “Vilya” is the “Ring of Air”, and even though, his current ring-bearer is Gil-galad, it will belong to Eärendil’s heir: Elrond.

“Water”. Maglor casted his Silmaril into the sea, and wandered along the shores of the world singing laments over the loss of the Silmaril. “Nenya” is the “Ring of Water”, and will be forever held by Galadriel, herself. In time, she’ll, too, suffer with “sea longing” (which many assume it’s only the desire to return to Valinor, but there might be more to it). Like Maglor, she’s also known for singing laments (“Namárië”, also called “Galadriel's Lament”).

In “Rings of Power”, Galadriel met Halbrand (the “mortal man” she fell in love with) in the middle of the sea.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"There he took up again his great Ring in Barad-dûr, and dwelt there, dark and silent, until he wrought himself a new guise, an image of malice and hatred made visible; and the Eye of Sauron the Terrible few could endure." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, "Akallabêth"

@ainurweek day 9 ⇢ MAIRON/SAURON

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in black, orange, and gold, with some white accents.

1: Huitzili Espinosa, a mexican model with long black hair and light brown skin. They are resting their hands on either side of their head and looking at the viewer with an unreadable expression. They wear no shirt, and their head is surrounded by thin gold rays. They are framed by a gold rectangle, and cursive gold text at the bottom reads "Mairon." Below that, smaller white serif text reads "[admirable]" and "“In his beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people.” / 2: Lava flowing from a smoking volcano, with an orange moon visible overhead. Text in the center reads "necromancer" - the first letter is in the large cursive font, while the rest is small and white. The image is framed in each corner with a diagonal gold line; in two of the corners, there is also white text reads "lord of the ring" / 3: Lightning flashing between stormclouds. White text formed in a circle reads "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them." and is outlined by a gold circle. The same borders as Image 2 are in the corners, but the text has switched places, and now reads "the north king" / 4: Same as Image 1, but the orientation is reversed, and the model is shown in black and white with their eyes crossed out, and upside-down. Text at the top of the frame reads "Sauron," "[abhorred]," and "“In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part.” //End ID]

[eye-of-mordor]

Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. In the beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people. In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.

[verecunda]

In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void.

— The Silmarillion, "Valaquenta"

[atimefordragons]

CINEMATIC PARALLELS: THE EVANURIS & THE VALAR ↳ FEN'HAREL & MAIRON

The legend says that before the fall of Arlathan, the gods we know and revere fought an endless war with others of their kind. There is not a hahren among us who remembers these others: Only in dreams do we hear whispered the names of Geldauran and Daern'thal and Anaris, for they are the Forgotten Ones, the gods of terror and malice, spite and pestilence. In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways, and saw him as one of their own. — CODEX ENTRY: FEN'HAREL: THE DREAD WOLF

With the Valar came other spirits whose being also began before the World, of the same order as the Valar but of less degree. These are the Maiar, the people of the Valar, and their servants and helpers. Their number is not known to the Elves, and few have names in any of the tongues of the Children of Ilúvatar; for though it is otherwise in Aman, in Middle-earth the Maiar have seldom appeared in form visible to Elves and Men. — VALAQUENTA: OF THE MAIAR

I pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon… and it broke you. [The things that I have done…] Are not for you alone to bear, my friend. The many wrongs we did, we did together. I release you from my service. — MYTHAL, THE DREAD WOLF RISES

And there is Sauron. In the Silmarillion and Tales of the First Age Sauron was a being of Valinor perverted to the service of the Enemy and becoming his chief captain and servant. He repents in fear when the First Enemy is utterly defeated, but in the end does not do as was commanded, return to the judgement of the gods. He lingers in Middle-earth. Very slowly, beginning with fair motives: the reorganising and rehabilitation of the ruin of Middle-earth, ‘neglected by the gods’, he becomes a re-incarnation of Evil, and a thing lusting for Complete Power – and so consumed ever more fiercely with hate (especially of gods and Elves). — FROM A LETTER BY J.R.R. TOLKIEN TO MILTON WALDMAN, 1951

Among those of his servants that have names the greatest was that spirit whom the Eldar called Sauron, or Gorthaur the Cruel. In his beginning he was of the Maiar of Aulë, and he remained mighty in the lore of that people. In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself. But in after years he rose like a shadow of Morgoth and a ghost of his malice, and walked behind him on the same ruinous path down into the Void. — VALAQUENTA: OF THE ENEMIES

And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And Fen'Harel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People. — CODEX ENTRY: FEN'HAREL: THE DREAD WOLF

It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves, immortal, wisest and fairest of all beings. Seven to the Dwarf-Lords, great miners and craftsmen of the mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of Men, who above all else desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and the will to govern each race. But they were all of them deceived, for another ring was made. Deep in the land of Mordor, in the Fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged a master ring, and into this ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all. — GALADRIEL, THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING, 2001

[littlemisshobbit]

‘ In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself ’

Haha This is my first time trying this artstyle and the first time trying an LOTR character 😅

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Silmarillion Daily - Of Menegroth

Today’s Silmarillion Daily contains two events - one is the building/carving of Menegroth and the other, happening around the same time in Valinor, is the births of Turgon and Finrod.

Here’s the part on Menegroth:

Now Melian had much foresight, after the manner of the Maiar; and when the second age of the captivity of Melkor had passed, she counselled Thingol that the Peace of Arda would not last forever. He took thought therefore how he should make for himself a kingly dwelling, and a place that should be strong, if evil were to awake again in Middle-earth; and he sought aid and counsel of the Dwarves of Belegost. They gave it willingly, for they were unwearied in those days and eager for new works; and though the Dwarves ever demanded a price for all that the did, whether with delight or with toil, at this time they held themselves paid. For Melian taught them much that they were eager to learn, and Thingol rewarded them with many fair pearls. These Círdan gave to him, for they were got in great number in the shallow waters about the Isle of Balar; but the Naugrim had not before seen their like, and they held them dear. One there was as great as a dove’s egg, and its sheen was as starlight on the foam of the sea; Nimphelos it is named, and the chieftain of the Dwarves of Belegost prized it above a mountain of wealth.

Therefore the Naugrim laboured long and gladly for Thingol, and devised for him mansions after the fashion of their people, delved deep in the earth. Where the Esgalduin flowed down, and parted Neldoreth from Region, there rose in the midst of the forest a rocky hill, and the river ran at its feet, There they made the gates of the hall of Thingol, and they built a bridge of stone over the river, by which alone the gates could be entered. Beyond the gates wide passages ran down to high halls and chambers far below that were hewn in the living stone, so many and so great that that dwelling was named Menegroth, the Thousand Caves.

But the Elves also had part in that labour, and Elves and Dwarves together, each with their own skill, there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the lines of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-coloured stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. And as the years passed Melian and her maidens filled the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that has ever been east of the Sea.

And when the building of Menegroth was achieved, and there was peace in the realm of Thingol and Melian, the Naugrim yet came ever and anon over the mountains and went in traffic about the lands; but they went seldom to the Falas, for they hated the sound of the sea and feared to look upon it. To Beleriand there came no other rumour or tidings of the world without.

There’s another tidbit about Menegroth in History of Middle-earth (The Peoples of Middle-earth, “The problem of Ros”):

…the great Hall of the Throne of Elwë in the midst of his stronghold of Menegroth…was called the Menelrond [heaven-dome], because by the arts and aid of Melian its high arched roof had been adorned with silver and gems set in the order and figures of the stars in the great Dome of Valmar in Aman, whence Melian came.

The section further states that Elwing named Elrond in memory of this place, and that this was held to be prophetic, as it foreshadowed Elrond choosing the kindred of the Eldar and “carrying on the lineage of King Elwë [Footnote: Also also that of Turgon; though he oreferred that of Elwë, who was not under the ban that was laid on the Exiles.]”, while Elros, named for water, crossed the seas and became King of Númenor.

I feel like Menegroth in the passage above comes about as close as anything else we see to Eru’s ideal for the Ainur and the Eruhíni: dwarves and elves and a Maia all working together in Middle-earth to make something beautiful with their different skills and knowledge. The decision to do it in incited by the awareness of danger, but that leads not to hostility but to cooperation and beauty. It’s not in Valinor, but it recalls much of Valinor and of the Valar: the carvings of trees and woodland creatures recall the forests of Oromë, the nightingales the gardens of Lórien, the tapestries of history (and visions of the future) the halls of Vairë and Mandos. Different peoples get a glimpse of things they don’t fully understand, but are drawn to: the dwarves can’t stand the sea, but they nonetheless love Círdan’s pearls.

This is what makes the way Menegroth ends such an absolute tragedy, and it is what makes Legolas and Gimli in The Lord of the Rings the redress of that tragedy: their visits to Aglarond and Fangorn, each understanding what the other loves, is a kind of echo of the unity of these caverns carved with trees and forest-creatures. They’re putting things right. (As, in a different way, Galadriel is putting Fëanor’s story right, and Elrond is putting Thingol’s specifically right.) Not putting things back exactly as they were, but healing them.

[kisses-in-the-void]

Angbang!

Violence on their beloved's behalf – Mairon killing and torturing Melkor’s enemies ever since the Elves awakened under the light of Varda’s stars, earning himself the name Cruel. Then, thousands of years later, he founded an entire cult with human sacrifices in Melkor’s name — which ended with the whole island sinking into the ocean. (The last part was unplanned, but still)

Deranged compliments and praising bad deeds – Mairon joined Melkor because he was fascinated by his designs and adored him for it. I can just imagine him bursting with endless compliments whenever he saw one of Melkor’s new creations, no matter how terrifying or fucked up it seemed to anyone else.

Stealing nice things for their beloved – Mairon helped conquer entire lands in his lord’s name, not to mention the prisoners he brought him. He even wanted to steal the most beautiful woman in all of Middle-earth.

Jealousy and possessiveness – Stepping into headcanon territory now, but for me, angbang dynamic is inseparable from these two words. They’re both very, very, very jealous and aren’t shy about being aggressive over it — but never toward each other, only at outsiders who dare to irritate them.

Encouraging their beloved to be worse – Melkor seduced Mairon to the dark side, showing him a whole new world and teaching him how to be a deranged, cruel, hot villain. In return, Mairon did everything he could to keep his lord in power, even ruled the ruins of Angband in his absence, not taking the throne for himself, but restoring its resources and waiting for his master’s return. Later, in the Second and Third Ages, Mairon became Melkor’s heir under his former master’s indirect influence.

Crimes together - "In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself." <3

Obsessed with villainous displays of affection.

violence on their beloved's behalf.

deranged compliments and praising bad deeds.

stealing nice things for their beloved.

jealousy and possessiveness.

encouraging their beloved to be worse.

crimes together.

[hailturinturambar]

Unnumbered Lamentations.

Pairing: Melkor/Morgoth x Nienna

Word count: 10.440

Author's Notes: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes or confusion. Mr. Tolkien, wherever your soul may be, don't hate me. I think I've visited Hades and back, because my goodness, this was just supposed to be angsty. I didn't expect it to get so grim (although I wanted it to be a little), but it seems like it wrote itself. So strap in.

Warnings: Toxic relationship. Difficult birth. Blood and cuts. Anguish. Sauron at his worst level of evil. Suffering more than Jesus. I don't know what to say, just that it's heavy.

Summary: In the year 472 of the First Age, war came to Angband and legend would tell of that day as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. But in the Dark Lord's fortress, it is time for the heir to be born, and Nienna is at the mercy of Sauron's aid and protection, while Melkor faces his enemies.

PART XV -> SERIES MASTERLIST

The Battle of the Powers, it was called. For when the Ainur, weary of Melkor's destruction and perversion, and above all for love of the Firstborn, set out for Middle-earth, they declared war upon the Dark Vala.

Terrible were the deeds of Melkor, and many Elves were corrupted by the dark hand of the Dark Lord. Yet, the Valar could not allow him to destroy the Children of Ilúvatar, those whom the Valar were, by Eru's decree, to protect and cherish.

And so they did, fighting for the Elves, which only made Melkor's heart darker, and no kindness to the Firstborn had he known since those Elder Days. Yet, Manwë loved his brother and wished to give Melkor the chance to depart from Middle-earth in peace with the Valar.

At Manwë's request, the Valar entered the Dark Lord's first fortress, Utumno. Malice and perversion emanated there, and no light could enter his domain. But Melkor did not prevent the Ainur from entering there.

They stood in awe, staring at Melkor, tall and dark, who stood waiting for them. In the Halls of Melkor, darkness was all but complete, save for the flaming braziers that illuminated Melkor's dark face. Yet, no purity did that light know, save the evil magic of the Dark Lord.

In horror, the Valar saw creatures emanating from the fire, as if fed by it. Serpents, cunning and malicious like their master, fell to the ground, slithering among the Valar. They did nothing, watching as the creatures entwined themselves around the dark pillars.

Melkor, sitting on his iron throne, looked down upon the Valar, smiling maliciously at them. For they were here on terms of peace, even though Melkor knew they did not trust him, or his strength, enough to be there, if not in the name of war.

Tremendous, intense, was the cold in his fortress, and even the Valar, who were not able to feel cold or heat like the Elves, shuddered before Melkor's calm and confidence. After all, he had nothing to fear, when he knew his brother's heart well.

Manwë, the King of Arda, looked calmly and gracefully upon the Valar, as he, and he alone, walked towards Melkor. It was painful for Manwë to stand before Melkor, his brother, and to be forced to speak with him, as with an enemy.

With kindness consuming his heart, Manwë stood before the throne of Melkor, who did nothing but stare at his younger brother with fury and hatred, for Melkor's heart knew no forgiveness, nor had any good feelings towards the King of the Valar.

“Here we are, my brother,” Manwë said, stretching out his arms as if expecting an embrace, as if presenting himself before a being of such great importance. “And we have come to your Halls, that you may dwell with us in Valinor.”

Melkor's laughter was loud. It was as loud as thunder, and as cold as death itself. Indeed, he was amazed at the Valar's audacity in declaring war on him, and then entering his domains, as if he would yield to them as a subject, as a servant.

None of this Melkor would do, and he felt a deep delight as he watched the unhappiness that flooded Manwë's once gentle face. Nothing in all Arda gave Melkor more pleasure than to be the bearer of all Manwë's unhappiness, the one who had taken it all from him. All that was rightfully his.

Wickedly, Melkor smiled at his brother, sighing, as if weary of the words of the Vala of the Sky. Why, thought Melkor, should he go an outcast, a dethroned king, to the Undying Lands, which had never been his home?

Never a king, would he be before the Valar in the Blessed Realm. For since the Great Song Melkor had never been one of them, and never would he be. Thus none of the beauties and wonders wrought in Valinor were thought of in him.

Melkor would rule over all in Valinor, or he would remain in Middle-earth, until he was so great and powerful that not even the Aratar could stand against him. Then he only smiled, noticing the hopelessness dawning on his brother's face, who to a king had never seemed so unimportant, in the face of Melkor's cruelty.

“Come to me, Manwë,” Said Melkor venomously. “Get on your knees before me, and swear your fair words of friendship and companionship.”

The whispers of the Valar, so powerful and angry, reverberate throughout Middle-earth. But when Manwë raised his hand, they all fell silent, waiting for the king's decision. For they did not trust Melkor, much less accept his orders, but the King of the Valar would decide for them.

“Then comes each of the gods, and does the same.” Melkor smiled, but he was now looking around.

As if, while he cursed the Valar, he sought only one, and no more. And indeed, he found her. For Nienna stood among the Valar, beside her brothers protectors whom Melkor so despised.

From Manwë he desired complete and utter humiliation, seeing the King of Arda reduced to nothing, a mere suppliant. All others, Melkor thought, should swear on their knees that they came to him with good intentions and friendship.

Not that Melkor really needed, or even cared about, such promises. All he wanted was to humble the Valar, to watch from his throne as all the mighty and beloved gods of Eru, who had so despised him, who had so mocked him, suffered the shame of serving him.

Nienna, however, what Melkor sought to conquer was much more. He noticed the black veil covering her face, preventing him from admiring her majestic tears. But, he would get from her what he hoped for. Complete and total devotion.

“But let Tulkas be the last.” Melkor said with pleasure, noting the Vala’s fury. “And kiss my feet, and swear fealty.”

Cruel were Melkor's thoughts, and for Tulkas his dark heart had more in store. Long were the Valar's memories, and harder still was it to forget the injuries they had suffered. Thus Melkor never forgot when Tulkas had struck him down, ages ago. And special evil Melkor had in store for him.

However, the Valar did not intend to be loyal or friendly to Melkor. On the contrary, they would feign humiliation, if that would be enough to have Melkor driven out of his fortress, and thus defeated once more.

Manwë's heart, however, was divided. He hoped that he could persuade Melkor to leave in peace, and the Valar, he knew, would accept his sentence and allow Melkor to walk freely in Valinor, even though much evil he had wrought throughout Middle-earth.

Too proud was Melkor to accept to leave and live among the Valar, sharing the power, but never commanding. And, like Melkor, the Valar found no more kindness towards him, for they were furious with the order, with the humiliation that Melkor tried to impose on the King of Arda.

“It shall be done, brother,” Manwë said, stepping ever closer to the Dark Lord.

Great horror seized the Valar, as they realized that Manwë was willing to yield to Melkor, that he would indeed bow before the Dark Vala. As Manwë was kneeling, Tulkas's furious cry interrupted the Vala.

For, like Tulkas, Aulë cursed and railed against Melkor, unable to accept this humiliation. Consumed with rage, with disbelief, Tulkas bellowed against Melkor, and threw himself towards the Dark Vala. With him, Oromë, his son, and Aulë, rushed towards Melkor.

Chaos and fury reigned in the Halls of Melkor, and the Valar were in turmoil, torn between fighting Melkor and preventing war at Manwë's bidding. Melkor's laughter was cold and sinister as he rose from his throne.

Like a mighty and proud king he stretched out his arms, shouting a call and a command, and all the dark creatures of Utumno came to the aid of their master. From all sides they came, and the Valar were assailed by the corrupt followers of Melkor.

Before Melkor stood Manwë, and the Dark Vala smiled with cruel pleasure at his brother. With skill and strength, he struck the King of the Valar with his flail. The Hammer of the Underworld, it was also called. Yet, his brother did not retaliate against him.

Delicate but powerful gusts he blew against Melkor, throwing the elder's body to the ground, while Aulë and Tulkas launched themselves towards the Dark Vala. The three, amidst the chaos and rage, grappled tightly, fighting until the first fell to his knees.

“Manwë.” Nienna said.

Terrified, she stood, watching the three Vala fighting in complete fury. Desperate, she ran to Manwë, holding tightly to the arm of the King of Arda. Even beneath the veil, even though her face was not exposed, he noticed her tears.

For in Nienna's eyes, the struggle was reflected, as endless tears streamed down her face. And, it was Nienna's tears that caught Melkor's attention, enough for Tulkas to overpower him.

In great fury he roared, as the Valar chained him to Angainor. Tulkas forced Melkor to his knees, completely bound, at the mercy of the gods' kindness. Yet, he continued to look at her, and only her.

For Nienna, Melkor thought, was on the side of the Valar, but she did not fight with them. At least, she did not fight against Melkor. And she wept for him, for all the evil he was bringing to others. He stood looking at her until his eyes were blindfolded and he was dragged out of Utumno.

Never could Melkor forget the humiliations the Valar had made him endure. No trust, or kindness, existed in Melkor's heart for them. And he could not, he would not, allow Nienna to be at their mercy, either. Much less, for her to be humiliated by the followers of Ilúvatar.

When the year 472 of the First Age finally arrived, Nienna's condition was too grave for even Melkor, proud and haughty, to pretend that she was safe. Great suffering she was enduring, and she was not able to endure such great torment any longer.

It was almost cruel for Melkor to admit that she needed the help of others. That he, and he alone, was not enough to keep her safe, that she could endure the pain, with only his help and assistance.

For five years, Nienna endured her pregnancy in silence, facing mental exhaustion, pain, and despair, alone. All alone, while Sauron tortured her mind, day after day, year after year, without her knowing what he was doing. At least, she did not know before.

Yet, it did not matter. Too vulnerable, she was to face Sauron. She was unable to defend herself, even to be enraged at Melkor. For from the fortress of Angband, the drums of war could be heard.

After a long wait, after so many plots and plans formed by both sides of the battlefield, the war was at its peak, and the Orcs fought at the gates of Angband in the name of Melkor. Fighting for their king, for the victory of the Dark Vala.

Melkor, despite the whispers in Middle-earth, was no coward. Indeed, he never had been. But his dark, dead heart was divided. Doubt weighed heavily upon him, and despite the Dark Lord's reluctance, he had to ask for help. For Nienna.

In Melkor's dark chambers, he watched in silence Nienna, stood outside the balcony, the Orcs screaming in fury as the first Elves arrived. But all his attention was on her.

On the bed, in complete silence, Nienna lay, her eyes closed. But she did not sleep; the Valar did not need to sleep if they did not wish to. Yet, she was too weak to leave Melkor's chambers, or his company. For months, Melkor thought, she had remained thus.

Slowly, Melkor approached the bed, noticing that Nienna did not even try to open her eyes when Melkor's Silmaril-scorched fingers caressed her face. Deep down, he knew she was not angry with him, or trying to be difficult.

She was terribly exhausted, as if all her strength had been drained from her. As if there was nothing left in her, and all the light had left her Fana. Melkor continued to stroke her face, which looked deathly pale, so lifeless. So without divinity or strength.

“Nienna.” He whispered in her mind.

It was painful even for Nienna to speak. For weeks she had only whispered in Melkor's mind, when she had the strength to do so. He approached her, kissing her lightly on the cheek. She lay still, vulnerable and so broken, in his wicked hands.

“I cannot stay by your side,” He said, never taking his face away from her, even though she did not even feel alive in his hands. “They are here. I cannot stay by your side, you know that.”

Honestly, Melkor said those words, those lies, to convince himself of the reasons why he was abandoning Nienna. When, in truth, he had already abandoned her many years ago, when he allowed her to go through that suffering, alone.

She whispered nothing into his mind, or showed that she understood his words. Small tears, however, streamed down Nienna's face, but not even her tears were strong enough to stain her pale face.

Her silence, but not her angry silence, haunted Melkor most of all. All her tears, she had already wasted on them in the past years. Nienna could do nothing but let Melkor decide for her, for them.

Not even the Valar know the hearts of Elves and Men. These secrets belong to Eru alone, and no one else. The heart of the Valar, though powerful and forged by the thought of Eru, was not known to the Ainur. Not completely, at least.

And whether it was Nienna's suffering, or the coming of war, Melkor had finally made up his mind. Lightly, he kissed Nienna's tears away, before departing from the chambers they had shared for so many years. She did nothing, or whispered to him, as he turned his back on her.

Melkor was furious. In fact, he had never felt so angry as at that moment, because he could not bear another humiliation. He could not, much less would, accept that the Valar had any power over him.

Yet, for the first time in ages he was haunted. Utterly horrified. For Nienna, his gentle and pious wife, seemed closer to the Halls of Mandos than to Angband.

The Valar did not die, Melkor knew that, but he also knew that when a Fana suffered a very powerful, very strong trauma, the body could never recover, and only the spirit would exist, without the bearer being able to assume a new beautiful form. And that, Melkor would not accept.

He would not allow Nienna to be taken from him, though pride pressed against his chest as he walked through Angband, barking orders to the orcs. The war was here, and the fortress could not be invaded. Not when Nienna could not protect herself without his help.

When Melkor entered the throne room, fully dressed in black armor, Sauron was there, waiting for Melkor's orders. He had been clear, Sauron was not to enter the battle until he gave the order.

“My Lord.” Sauron said with deep respect, walking towards Melkor.

Fury and rage emanated from Melkor, as if shadows of storms consumed everything around him. But they were not shadows. Melkor's Shadow was far from him, surrounding Nienna, keeping her wrapped in his power, in his darkness.

“Send Lingwilókë to Valinor,” Said Melkor. “He will know what to do.”

Confused, Sauron stared at Melkor. The words made no sense, at least not to him. The Valar, Sauron thought, were still furious that Melkor had infested and corrupted the oceans of Arda with his malice, with his Shadow. They would never allow the creature to come near the Undying Lands.

And Sauron knew that Melkor was not begging for forgiveness, or for help in the war. There was nothing the Valar could do for him. It was then that Sauron understood, looking at the empty throne of Nienna. The throne that had been empty for many, many years.

Nienna, Sauron had observed with delight, had not been the same for weeks. The child had demanded too much of her. Had driven her body and mind to such a state of exhaustion, that she would not even stray far from Melkor's chambers.

“The Valar will not allow it.” Said Sauron, walking quickly, seeking to reach Melkor.

The din of battle grew louder and louder, and the roar of the beasts in the dungeons grew louder. Great fury also gripped the Blessed Realm, for not even they, so far removed from the horrors of Middle-earth, were spared the cries of battle.

They were also concerned about Nienna. The Valar despised Melkor and cursed him for binding Nienna eternally to him, even convincing her to have a child with the darkest and most cruel being in all of Arda.

For the Valar, the child should be taken to Valinor, and imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos, where he should remain until he proved himself not to be a threat like his father. In this way, too, they would keep the child away from the poisonous influence of Sauron.

However, not all the Valar were pleased with these thoughts, especially Mandos and Irmo, who would not allow Nienna to be forced to keep her son in captivity, or for her and the child to be harmed during the war. No harm, Mandos had said, should be done to the child, for though he was Melkor's son, so was Nienna's.

Furious, Melkor turned toward Sauron, gripping the lieutenant's armored arm tightly. Dark flames burned in Melkor's eyes, a madness never before seen filling the Dark Lord's every thought.

“This is an order,” He roared. “My wife is disembodying. And if the Valar are unable to protect Nienna, let them cry out and beg on their knees to Eru, for it is I they will face.”

Melkor pulled Sauron's hands away, turning his back on the Maia. Prophetic, Melkor's words had been, and he believed that the Dark Vala was being honest. Not even Valinor could protect the Valar if something happened to Nienna. All of Middle-earth would suffer deeply.

Nienna could not die, not like the Elves and Men. Yet, Sauron could understand Melkor's fear. If Nienna were to disembodying by force, against her will, it would be such a violence to her Fana that she could no longer, for all eternity, be in that body.

For years, Sauron had tormented Nienna's mind, weakening her, sapping her strength, demanding that her body endure the worst of all exhaustions. That of the mind. Nienna, Sauron thought, had been a nuisance, a hindrance.

She would remain so, as long as she remained by Melkor's side. The child, to him at least, would be no different. And all he felt for them was contempt, resentment, and hatred, even though the essence, the shadow, around Nienna was too much to resist, too much to deny. Against his will, it was almost too irresistible to be near Nienna, even when she was so fragile.

Perhaps her vulnerability, to Sauron, made it all the more alluring. And who knows, the child might be as powerful as his parents, sired by two Valar. To Sauron, a child could be of no use until many years had passed.

Yet, as he watched Melkor ride off to battle, Sauron knew that the consequences would be worse if he failed, if anything happened to Nienna. Let the sea beast depart for Valinor, he thought, using the full range of his power to whisper it into Lingwilókë's mind.

As long as Melkor did not use his wrath against him, Sauron would accept all orders. And so he did. For far his voice carried, and the creature was loyal to Melkor to the core. Swift and determined, Lingwilókë set out for the Blessed Realm, so that the Valar might receive the Dark Lord's message.

Melkor did not need all the Valar to leave Valinor, nor did he wish for that to happen without triggering a war. Irmo and Mandos, too, could not cross the borders of Angband without Melkor declaring war on them.

Many years ago in Valinor, the sea serpent sang a song of seduction and malice to Nienna, when she was far from the Dark Lord. However, the serpent's song was different now, and so was its listener.

In Valinor, in the Halls of Nienna, it was Olórin who heard the call of the serpent, singing the dark and furious song. Furious, however, because Melkor was haunted, completely afraid for Nienna, and he did not know how to bear that feeling, without anger dominating his mind.

Olórin never stopped waiting for Nienna, year after year, believing that she would return to the Undying Lands, and live far from the wicked Shadow of Melkor, without being consumed by him any longer. He was mistaken, of course. For Melkor had devoured too much of Nienna for her to return to the light of Valinor again.

But he listened, with wonder, with unhappiness, to the song of the serpent. No love or trust did Olórin have for Melkor. Deep down, however, he knew that the Dark Vala, proud and ruthless, would never ask for help, would never ask them to leave Valinor and do his bidding, without a reason.

And Olórin was worried about Nienna. He let the sea serpent return to Middle-earth, to Melkor, while he wandered desperately through Valinor, searching for the only goddesses the Dark Lord would trust with the safety of Nienna and their child.

Not all the Valar would allow Vairë and Estë to depart from Valinor to the fortress of the Dark Lord, and with deep concern they could not trust Melkor's words, and Olórin had to be cautious lest his Shadow be seen in the Undying Lands.

Because, if we were honest, Olórin distrusted Melkor. All of the Dark Lord's choices were made with care and caution, and he did nothing without a dark plan in mind, too. But he was Nienna's Maia, and he loved her. For better or worse, he would trust Melkor with her safety.

Reluctantly, but also concerned, Vairë and Estë accepted Melkor's terms, departing from Valinor to Middle-earth. There, they were to be blindfolded before entering Melkor's domain, as he had been blindfolded by the Valar many ages before.

Mandos, to whom Vairë was incapable of lying, begged her to speak to Nienna, on his behalf. To force, if necessary, Nienna to return to Valinor and live under the protection of the Valar. Nothing would be done to her, or the child, he assured her, so long as she returned home.

The drums and war cries dominated Middle-earth. For long, many years, the Elves plotted in secret, devising strategies. But they were betrayed by their own allies, and Melkor, with his dark and corrupt heart, knew how to destroy his enemies, until he was the only one standing.

Countless hosts of Orcs came out of Angband, fighting against Fingon's forces. Great panic gripped the Elves, and they became restless, and wished to attack the Orcs before all was lost. However, Fingon refused, ordering them to wait until the Orcs attacked the hills.

When the Orcs captured Gelmir, Gwindor's brother, so great was his rage that he ignored orders and advanced against Melkor's Orcs. Gwindor's rage renewed the spirit of the Elves, who, waiting for the Orcs in the hills, attacked them with strength and determination, nearly destroying Melkor's armies completely.

Melkor let them fight, let them trust in victory, while Gwindor and Fingon marched towards Angband, storming the iron gates of Angband. Many of Melkor's guards perished, but now the Elves were trapped as well.

Gwindor's entire company was shattered as he was taken prisoner. With a grim smile, Melkor approached the Elf, pleased by the panic on his features. Brutally, Melkor held Gwindor's face, holding the Elf's gaze on him.

“You dare invade my fortress,” Melkor roared. “While my wife, carring my child, is here?”

The malice in Melkor's voice, the Orcs around him knew, was enough to haunt even another Valar. The prisoner was taken to the dungeons, while beasts and monstrous creatures were unleashed from Angband, ready to do battle with the Dark Lord's enemies.

In Melkor's chambers, Nienna knew nothing of the war, unable to defend herself, or even fight for their son. But her eyes flew open as she gasped, struggling to leave the bed.

She did not understand what it was, but something was approaching, some danger, that she needed to escape. It took Nienna great effort to get out of bed. Even if she tried, no matter how hard she strained, her mind could not reach Melkor, not when she was so weak, and he was consumed by battle.

Nienna let the tears, now very strong, so much pain she felt, drip down her face. It did not matter anymore, all she had done was suffer and cry, she just wanted to get out of there, as if a dark force was approaching, and she did not know what it was.

With effort, Nienna walked out of Melkor's chambers, looking for him. She did not care that he was preparing to battle Eru himself, she needed him. She could not go through this alone, indeed. But she could not, most of all, go through all this pain without him by her side.

When the pain was so great that Nienna no longer had the strength to walk alone, she leaned her back against the cold walls of the fortress, begging Eru to help her find Melkor, but the pain was there again.

And when Nienna touched her belly, and stared at the white dress she wore, all she could see was blood. Her blood, staining the purity of the dress, but it was also a reminder that something was wrong with her baby. That something terribly bad was happening to him.

“No,” Nienna murmured, watching the blood spread. “Creator, do not let anything happen to him, do not let Melkor’s evils condemn us both.”

Nienna wept, unable to bear the sight of the blood, but too weak to do anything. Now she could hear the cries of war, the furious cries of Elves, Men, and Dwarves against the Orcs and the beasts of Melkor.

“Protect us, My Father.” She gasped, looking away from her blood-covered hands.

Alone in the hallway, Nienna was an easy target, completely vulnerable. Honestly, some Elves were determined to invade the fortress and prevent the aberration generated by Melkor from being born, even if it would cost Nienna dearly. They were too afraid of what that child could become to be rational or kind.

Nienna groaned, feeling the pain grow stronger and stronger. For hours, she had been in pain, but she had not even had the strength to fight the pain, or even to feel it. However, it was as if all the pain consumed Nienna’s vision.

She needed to get out of there, she needed Melkor. If not for her, for their baby, she could not let anything happen to him. So when an armored hand touched Nienna's shoulder, she almost cried with relief, thinking it was Melkor, there, beside her.

“My Queen.” Sauron whispered, bringing his hands to Nienna’s face. “Nienna.”

She tried to mumble something, incoherent words that he did not understand, because she moaned in pain, biting her lips hard. Sauron murmured her name gently, with appreciation, but she did not hear what he was saying.

Nienna did not even notice how he caressed her face, touching her skin so deeply, preserving the sensation of her warmth against his fingers. Even if she had noticed, there was nothing she could have done to stop Sauron. And he knew it.

“Melkor.” She whispered weakly.

“It is just the two of us here, Nienna.” He whispered, too close to her face. “Melkor is in the battle, he cannot even hear the two of us.”

Nienna denied forcefully, trying to push Sauron away, but he was stronger now, he held her face tightly. When Nienna screamed, almost falling, if it was not for Sauron holding her body. She gave up fighting him, and fighting the pain.

“We need to get out of here,” Sauron said, wrapping his arms around Nienna.

She did not have time to ask what he was doing before he was lifting her up. For a Maia, it was as simple as carrying an Elf, since she was so fragile, so vulnerable. And when Nienna closed her eyes in exhaustion, laying her face against Sauron's chest, he smiled.

How could he deny how delightful it was to see Nienna, who had always despised him, who had always distrusted him, completely given over to him, at his mercy, at his safety, because her husband was not by her side, again. And if Sauron were to be honest, the darker part of him, liked her better this way.

Vulnerable, malleable, covered in blood. She seemed perfect, a special creation, that way, and if he could, he would keep her that way forever. But war was still a risk, and so Sauron walked silently through the dark halls of Angband, holding Nienna against his arms.

So much blood, Sauron thought, seeing how her dress was completely stained, the white almost a memory. As they neared the dungeons, the last place in the entire fortress that Melkor's enemies would think to look for Nienna.

Slowly, Sauron laid Nienna's body on the dungeon floor, on a cloak long forgotten there. She felt so cold against his hand, as he stroked her face, he noticed that she was bleeding a different color now. No, that blood was not hers, not anymore, just hers, at least.

Blood, black as pitch, stained Nienna's dress, too. Her blood, covered in the blood of her son. Nienna, as if sensing something was wrong, opened her eyes, but Sauron tried to keep her attention focused on him.

“No.” She whispered, trying to push him away. “Please, I need Melkor.”

Sauron smiled, with false pity, with false sympathy, kissing Nienna's face lightly, rubbing his face repeatedly against hers, not caring that she was only begging for Melkor, not caring that she was crying. Because she had noticed the black blood, the blood of her little boy, and she was terrified.

“You cannot go to him, Nienna.” Sauron whispered in her ear. “But I promised I would be by your side, did not I?”

His tone startled Nienna. So obsessive, so possessive, she had no idea what could possibly be flooding Sauron’s mind. At least he was not trying to torture her mind, not now, as he kissed her face, stroking her hair, as if she were so precious, so divine, that he could not stay away.

“Call Melkor.” She begged.

“You are always getting in the way of his battles, keeping him from achieving greatness.” He muttered, almost in disgust, almost in envy. “Let him fight, you do not need him right now. I am here, and I will take care of you.”

Honestly, he was not the only one who cared about her, but Nienna would not think about that, and Sauron was pleased. Because even though he was worried, Adar was fighting alongside the Uruks, and there was nothing he could do to protect her. Or, to stop him from staying so close to her.

“Stay away from me.” She sobbed, pushing at Sauron’s chest.

But she did not have the strength to keep Sauron at bay. She was more concerned about her son. Before she could pull her hand away from his chest, Sauron grabbed her hand. Nienna wept, biting her lips tightly, holding Sauron's hand even tighter, not caring that the armor hurt her.

There was so much blood, more blood than Nienna had expected to be inside her. Something was wrong, and she did not know how to fix it, not without Melkor. Once again, he was fighting his own battles, and leaving Nienna to fight hers alone.

“I am here, that is enough, is it not?” Sauron murmured.

With wicked delicacy, he slid his finger across Nienna’s lip, admiring the blood. If she had been well, if she had been able to do anything but feel pain, she would have struck Sauron in the face again, when she was forced to watch him lick the blood from her lips, which had stained his fingers. But she could not escape him, not now, when the Elves were battling Melkor.

Outside the fortress, Fingon fought beside Turgon, but the Orcs were too many, and Melkor's malice was insatiable. When the horns of Maedhros's host sounded, the allies shouted in full fury, but also in hope, for now Turgon and Fingon fought with Maedhros's aid.

With the arrival of the last host, all of Angband descended upon the free peoples. Wolves, serpents, Orcs, and dragons marched out of Angband, and with them came the terrible Glaurung. Still, Melkor's enemies fought with strength and courage.

But the prophecy of Mandos still weighed heavily upon them, and treachery would follow the path of the Elves through all the ages. For when Uldor, like the spy he had been for years, turned against the forces of Maedhros, war began between the allies.

Attacks came from all sides, hours had passed, and the war had not yet come to an end. However, many had perished. And the traitor fell by the hand of Maglor, Uldor, while Ulfast fell before Bór and his sons.

The chaos was tremendous, and they needed to retreat before they were destroyed. The Dwarves of Belegost, determined and loyal, helped the Men and Elves, allowing many a chance to escape to Ossiriand.

The Dwarves proved themselves brave and powerful, and fought harder than the Elves, harder than the Men. For a time they were victorious, until Glaurung marched upon them. Many perished before the creature, unable to defend themselves. But the dragons were not ready for battle, not yet.

And when Glaurung was struck, and was wounded cruelly in the belly, he roared in rage, the cry of pain echoing throughout all Middle-earth, as he retreated wounded to Angband, and many of Melkor's beasts, suffering the same fate as he, fled to the safety of the fortress.

In the dungeons, the dragon's scream woke Nienna from her pain, and she realized that Sauron was still caressing her face. But she did not care. Hours had passed, eternity could have passed, she did not even know.

Nienna just could not stand the pain anymore, all that suffering, all that blood. Her blood, his blood, mixed with their pain and suffering. She closed her eyes, touching her belly, desperate to know if her son was still alive, but the shadow around him was too thick for her to reach him.

Sauron, unlike Nienna, could hear footsteps approaching. Furious, he practically growled, pulling his hand away from Nienna's face. Many hours had passed, the moon was already shining very brightly in the sky, and now, after so long, he heard their desperate comments.

For Vairë entered the dungeons in horror, unable to hide her fear as she noticed Nienna's body lying on the floor, covered in blood. Beside her, Estë gasped in surprise, launching herself towards Nienna.

“We are here, my dear,” Estë said, stroking Nienna’s face.

“No.” Nienna murmured, worried. “He cannot know that you are here.”

“It is fine, Nienna,” Estë murmured, stroking her hair. “He was the one who asked us to come to you.”

Vairë glared coldly at Sauron, expecting him to turn away from Nienna, which he did, but with grudging anger as he looked at the goddess. Not that she cared, of course, she only cared about Nienna. She held her hand, whispering comforting words to her, promising that they would help.

“No matter what he is doing, Sauron,” Vairë said, without even looking at him. “Drag Melkor here, if you must.”

Sauron merely nodded, turning his back on Vairë, even though he did not go very far, for he did not intend to look for Melkor. But deep down, he was frightened. Too powerful, they were, and too watchful.

Melkor may not have noticed what Sauron had done to Nienna, for he cared for nothing but war, but they, Sauron feared, would glimpse in Nienna's mind all the years he had kept her in torment, and so he waited in the shadows.

Vairë, Sauron thought, was doing her best, but it was still not enough. Too long had Nienna suffered for them to be able to put an end to her pain, or even free her Fana from that suffering.

Wickedly, he smiled, listening as Vairë whispered of the words of Mandos, of the promises of the Vala. Melkor was, he thought, right not to trust the Valar, who would take Ninna away from him, if need be, if only she said yes.

Nienna did not understand her words as she screamed in pain. Blood soaked her dress. Hours had passed, and the bleeding did not ease. Not even with Valinor's help did Nienna seem able to bear this burden, this pain.

“Sauron.” Estë bellowed.

Dramatically, he lingered, as if he were far away, searching for Melkor. He caught himself, hiding the smirk that threatened to escape, when he noticed the frustrated and worried looks on the two Valier's faces. So powerful, and just like Nienna, they still needed him.

“The baby is dying,” She whispered, as Vairë soothed Nienna. “We need to get him out, before Nienna loses her Fana too.”

“You mighty Valier of Valinor, cannot you do this?” He quipped, noticing the fury on her face.

Hidden in the long cloak she wore, Estë removed a golden knife. A pure weapon, from Valinor, knowing no corruption. The only blade that could touch a Valar without truly causing harm. A weapon Sauron longed to forge, but more powerful than theirs.

“You have to do this.” She muttered, almost unhappily. “She is too weak, our power will only make her situation worse.”

With false sadness, with false discomfort, Sauron accepted the knife she was holding out to him. Not that Sauron would admit it, because he feared the consequences if Melkor discovered his thoughts, but this was the moment he had always waited for. The moment, when after so much suffering, he could finally, with pleasure, take revenge on Nienna.

For everything she had taken from him, for everything she had taken from him just so she could experience it. For all the cruel and confusing emotions she had awakened in him. For all the obsession her sweet and sickening essence had provoked in him.

Who knows, he might do all this later. Much later, alone, even, he could take revenge on her. But Sauron would not be reckless, provoking Melkor's wrath, because his wife had passed away because of his most loyal lieutenant.

As Sauron approached Nienna, who looked even paler, he felt Vairë's hand grip his arm tightly, as if her touch was so furious, so protective, that it reached past his armor and into his very core, a reminder of what true power truly felt like.

“Touch her, however small, in a way that troubles me, and it will not be Melkor you fear,” Said Vairë.

He understood, of course he did, why Mandos had chosen to marry her. His own fury shone through her. She, Sauron thought, was not the kind of enemy he would provoke, or even try to deceive. Her tapestries told her everything she needed, and there was no reason, other than that, to trust Sauron.

They pulled up Nienna's dress, exposing her belly. So much blood covered Nienna's body, it was hard to understand how she was still there. Great strength, indeed, she was exerting to hold her Fana. For her child. The kind of strength Sauron was beginning to learn she had, and that he should fear.

“I need him.” Nienna cried.

“He will be by your side soon,” Estë murmured.

But it was a lie. Even Nienna knew that those words were not honest, because the clamor of war was still very loud. It did not matter, after all, how much time had passed, Melkor would not be there, by her side, when she needed him most. While she suffered, for something he had desired long before her.

Vairë held Nienna's face, singing a sweet melody in her mind, a sweet melody that was only heard in Valinor. It was the most comfort she could find so far from home, so far from the one she loved the most, but did not love her enough in return.

“It has to be now,” Estë whispered.

Nienna, Sauron noticed, was trapped by the song, distracted from the new pain she would face. As the golden blade touched Nienna's skin, Sauron did as Estë commanded, cutting Nienna hard, but not enough to injure her Fana beyond repair. Even with her mind trapped by the song, Nienna's cry of pain had reverberated throughout Angband. Even Melkor's enemies had been able to hear her wail.

However, they could not stop the cutting. Not now, it was vital to continue. Nienna could not stand it for hours like this anymore, she had been in this state for too long, weeks in which her Fana was beginning to distance from her spirit.

Nienna's scream accompanied the screams of the Elves as Gothmog entered the battlefield, scattering the Orcs. For Fingon, and him alone, he wished to face. And terrible, intense, and vicious was the battle between them. The flash of Gothmog's flaming whip could be glimpsed for miles around.

The Orcs celebrated the fall of Fingon. Húrin, badly wounded but loyal and friendly to the end, begged Turgon to leave with the survivors. After all, he was the only one left of the House of Fingolfin. Gondolin, Turgon's realm, would be exposed if he fell in battle. The realm, Húrin thought, mattered more, for that was their last hope.

With Turgon gone, Húrin and Huor fought bravely, protecting the Elves from the enemy. But the odds were too great, and Huor fell, leaving his brother alone in the enemy lands. The Orcs laughed darkly at their victory, as Gothmog approached the mortal.

Many Orcs fell by the hand of Húrin. But the fate of the Elves was united with that of Men, and against Gothmog, Húrin could not fight. Alive he had been left, because the Dark Lord had commanded it. Great plans he had for Húrin, and alive he was far more valuable.

Húrin was bound by Gothmog, and the Orcs celebrated, watching as the mortal was dragged to Angband, where no help but death or treachery could reach Húrin, and lost forever was he. Darkness fell upon Arda, and terrible winds approached, singing the end of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

Above all, Melkor triumphed, and thousands died in vain, for the King of Angband smiled in wonder, watching the bodies that lay beyond the gates of his fortress. Yet, Turgon and his followers departed, enraging Melkor. For Turgon was King of All the Noldor, and this made him the Dark Lord's greatest rival.

In ages past, the House of Fingolfin railed against Melkor in Valinor, and great friendship and loyalty they had with Ulmo, whom Melkor most desired to destroy. From Húrin he hoped to gain answers, and to have treachery enter his heart. And Húrin, before he was cast into the dungeons, was brought to Melkor.

“Kill me,” He said. “For of me, Great Foe, you shall have nothing.”

Melkor smiled, rising from his throne, admiring the mortal so fragile before him, a small insect, before all the power of the Dark Vala. But, in time, he would understand that not even a Man is so weak, that he hates his fellow men and betrays them.

“Kill you?” Melkor laughed. “What I have for you is worse than death. Many find forgiveness in death, eternal peace, even.” He sneered. “Forgiveness will not be found in Angband.”

Húrin laughed, defeated but not broken, as the Orcs carried him away from Melkor. Victorious he had been, and such pride filled the Dark Vala, knowing that many had perished before his fortress, and that he would hunt down those who fled, even if his Shadow had to search for each one.

But Turgon still weighed on Melkor's mind, and long would he strive to find the Elf, if Húrin did not prove that Men were weak and faithless. In any case it would be amusing, interesting even, all the cruelties he could put Húrin through, until he told the truth.

However, far from the Dark Lord's thoughts was Nienna, who gasped in pain every time the gold knife touched her bloody body, now cruelly cut with Sauron's help.

But she did not complain, she did not have the strength for it. Not even tears, she shed. The silence and the silent pain that accompanied it, were all Nienna had known in the past few years, knowing nothing but suffering and death in Angband.

“Almost there, do not give up now.” Vairë murmured, caressing Nienna’s face.

It should not be like this, it should never have been like this. This, Nienna thought, should have been a special moment, a good one, a pure one, even. In Valinor, surrounded by her family, with Melkor beside her. Everything should have been so different.

It had not been, however, and all Nienna have is this, as she bled out on the dungeon floor, with hope that Vairë was right. Because besides Nienna’s blood, thick black blood stained the dungeon floor.

“Nienna.” Said Sauron.

His voice was confident, even firm. And to his surprise, he had Nienna’s attention. Her blood, her baby’s blood, too, stained his hands. Not that Sauron minded, of course. Blood, since the Elder Days, had been a gift to him, never a curse.

“Be strong one last time.”

Confused, the Valier looked at Sauron, not entirely confident with his words. For, it was clear to everyone that the Maia did not like Nienna, however, a lot had happened in the years that they all lived together, and many secrets, Sauron kept in his own chest.

Nienna nodded, for even she, consumed by grief, felt that the movements within her now, seemed very fragile. As if the child could no longer bear the pain, as she could. Estë, caring and gentle, held Nienna's hand, trying to comfort her, even though no comfort in all of Arda was possible for her.

Together, Vairë and Sauron were forced to degrade Nienna's Fana enough so that the babe could be removed. In time, she would recover, or so they hoped. Blood black as pitch, so dark, so thick, it stained their robes, their hands.

But Nienna gasped with deep relief when she could hear the crying. This time it was not she who wept, but her son. He was, at last, alive and safe. Much pain, much suffering, she had endured. Much more, she would suffer for him. She, too, would not let him be harmed, or harm come to him. He had her, if he had not Melkor, in the end, and she would protect him.

Nienna struggled to look at him, at the one she had loved long before she had the chance to know him. Black blood stained him, all over, almost as if he were a puddle, a mixture of all of Melkor's corruption. And perhaps, his blood was similar to his father's, too.

“He is adorable,” Vairë murmured, placing the baby in Nienna’s arms.

Indeed, the little Valarindi was the embodiment of corrupted purity. No one in all the history of Arda had been able to withstand the power and essence of the Children of the Valar. It was this, then, Sauron realized, that made Nienna's essence irresistible. It was not she, it had never been, it was the babe. At least, his power, even if Sauron did not know what it was.

Nienna wept, caressing his face, wiping the black blood from his eyes as he wept in her arms, as if he already knew all the suffering that existed in Arda. And even though he was still very young, the similarities were there.

Small strands of dark hair, stained with blood, covered his head, similar to his parents' hair. Even his delicate features reminded her of Melkor. Perhaps this was what made Nienna cry the most, keeping the baby close to her, protected in her arms.

“He is so innocent.” She whispered, lightly kissing the baby’s face. “What a cruel world I brought him into.”

“Do not think of that.” Vairë whispered, smiling sadly at Nienna. “It will be okay, just wait for us.”

The two Valier made sure that Nienna and the babe were safe, safe enough outside of Valinor, as they left the dungeons. Too much time had passed here, and even Melkor's patience had limits.

The weeping could be heard throughout the fortress, accompanying them as they walked in silence, consumed by grief, by mourning, as they were forced to turn their backs on Nienna.

Melkor, haughty and somber, waited for them at the gates of the fortress. If he was worried, or even bothered by the amount of blood that stained their clothes, he said nothing, he showed nothing.

“You will be escorted.” He said, with utter contempt, as an Uruk approached with two blindfolds.

“We are not your servants, much less do we fear you.” Vairë said, as furiously as he was. “We are not here because you called for us.”

She walked up to Melkor, stopping before him. He could not deny that she looked very powerful at that moment. Few had the courage to face him. To dare to get so close to him without fear that he would stab them in the back.

“I did it for your wife.”

Melkor, however, said nothing as they were blindfolded and led away from Angband. The battle was over, and victorious he was. The enemies were far away, and now he could be at Nienna's side, even if he had abandoned her when she needed him most.

Alone in the dungeons, were Sauron and Nienna. She seemed very silent, he noticed, as she lay there with the baby on her chest, their arms clasped together in an embrace. He only stopped crying when she whispered to him, singing a sweet melody.

Nienna's eyes, like the child's, were closed, and Sauron doubted she noticed he was still there. He silently admired the mixture of blood on his hands, while Nienna almost seemed asleep.

One last trick he had for her. Perhaps it was too risky, too foolish, but Sauron had come too far to be prudent. Sauron closed his eyes for a brief second, and he could see the change.

If he was honest, he was getting better and better. It was so realistic, that in her weakened state, he doubted she would even notice. Slowly, Sauron’s hands caressed Nienna’s face, waking her from the reverie of pain that had taken so much out of her. She was still very pale.

She smiled sadly at him as he approached her. Because it was not Sauron she was seeing, quite the opposite. Deceptive to the end, Sauron wore a new Fana, a disguise. A mask, the mask she loved the most. She did not see Sauron when she looked at him, she saw Melkor.

She would probably forget about it, the trauma of the pain blurring the memories. At least, he hoped so, as he brought his face closer to hers, pressing his lips against hers. It was like drinking from a river long admired, coveted from afar, but never to be taken.

The essence, Sauron thought, had diminished with the birth of the baby. But she still seemed very different to him, in a frightening way, in a good way, that he could not even explain, nor did he want to understand.

Not when she kissed him back, even though she was still very weak, even though she was not strong enough yet. He did not care, holding her face a little tighter, lost in the feel of her divine lips against his, lost in all the affection she showered on him.

Because, Sauron thought, it was not for him, or by him. She would never touch him, not like that, with so much love, with so much forgiveness, even after suffering so much. She thought of Melkor, she would always think of him, even if he made her suffer.

And Sauron was so focused on her, on how delicate, warm, silky her lips were, that he did not hear Adar approaching. But Adar was very silent, because, honestly, he was amazed.

Melkor was in the battle, and Adar had followed his orders. In fact, he had left Melkor's presence, at that moment, to check on Nienna, while the Dark Lord had not arrived. But before him stood Melkor, kissing Nienna. That was not Melkor, it could not be. He knew it.

Reluctantly, he noticed, Sauron, because he knew it was Sauron, broke the kiss, but without pulling away from Nienna. He stroked her face, and her eyes remained closed. Before she could open them again, or anyone else could come near, he abandoned the deception.

Fury, betrayal, melancholy, filled Adar's chest. Of all Sauron's deceptions, to Adar, this had been the worst. For Sauron had taken advantage of Nienna, torturing her mind, making her suffer for years. And now, he wanted to pour his desire and lust into her, while she thought she was finally at Melkor's side.

As Nienna hugged the baby protectively, as if sleeping with him, Adar stepped harder, pretending to come closer. Sauron looked at him, showing no fear, not believing that he had not been caught in his deception.

“Is she sleeping?” Adar murmured, trying to keep his voice calm, emotionless.

“Valar do not need sleep,” Sauron said, stepping away from her. “Her spirit is fragile, and her Fana is trying to heal herself. She will be like this for many days, I fear.”

He said nothing more, leaving the dungeons without looking back, as if he did not care enough, even though Adar had seen him kissing Nienna, as if she were his own wife, and not Melkor's. When Melkor's footsteps were near, Adar waited respectfully for his master's arrival, making a small bow, before leaving.

Still covered in armor, Melkor approached Nienna. She looked so fragile, so mortal. And it bothered him, because a bad, poisonous feeling, very much like fear, flooded his chest. He bent down, lightly touching her face, and she only sighed against his touch, even though the armor was cold, while he was so warm.

“My Nienna.” He murmured, lightly kissing her cheek.

“My Melkor.” She whispered, reaching for his hand.

She held his hand tightly, forcing her eyes open. Eyes that he, unfortunately, loved. They were shining with tears, with all the suffering she had endured. For her, for him. For all of them.

Then he finally noticed the baby she held protectively. His child, his creation, alive and safe, surrounded by Nienna’s protective embrace. Slowly, he reached his hand down to the nearly sleeping baby, touching his face. The armor felt freezing compared to the baby’s warm skin.

It was strange, watching this being so small, yet so powerful. To be standing before his true creation, a creation of his own. A creation, however, that had nearly cost Nienna her life, and haunted Melkor in a way he had never felt before.

Nienna, with all the strength she had left in her, smiled at him, letting him take the baby from her arms. It seemed like a burden, too great for her at that moment, and deep down, she wanted nothing more than for Melkor to hold on to their son.

“Nurutúrwë.” Nienna whispered.

The baby, asleep in Melkor's arms, no longer cried. When Nienna spoke the name, the name of their son, he almost smiled at her. For names had power in Arda, and Nurutúrwë, Master of Death, was a powerful name, prophetic, even.

Even Nienna, who loved the Valar, knew what the baby represented. However, his name, unfortunately, reminded Melkor of Námo, cursed be Nurufantur, and all the love Nienna had for him.

But Melkor would not be cruel to her, not for this. He noticed how fragile she seemed, yet, so desperate for his comforting touch. How she always seemed so desperate for him, even when she was broken, even when he broke her heart.

“Are you satisfied?” She said, but her voice was so low that only a Valar could hear it.

Intense, long, had been Nienna's suffering, Nurutúrwë's, even. But, above all, she was concerned whether Melkor was happy, whether he was pleased with their son. Because Nienna was insecure, afraid that he might abandon them, deciding that this, being a father, would not work for the Dark Vala who aspired to be King of Arda.

So devoted, so dedicated, she was to him. And when Melkor looked again at his son, peaceful in his arms, as if the armor covered in blood and ash was nothing but a part of Melkor. The black blood, blood as black as his own, still covered the baby, but it was remarkable that he was so much like them.

After all, he was their little creation, not Eru's, but theirs. Their son. Above all, Melkor's heir, because for him, Manwë would never be the true King of Arda. He was the oldest, the most powerful, the most determined. He would never accept his brother dethroning him, as well as his son.

Manwë would have to bear the thought that not only would Melkor fight for the throne, but he would fight for Nurutúrwë, too. For Melkor, Nienna should be the Queen of the Valar, not Varda. They, Melkor thought, were always stealing what was rightfully theirs.

Nienna might not desire power, or the throne of Valinor. But she had something fragile to love, something vulnerable that depended on her. A child, whom the Valar feared, and perhaps never fully trusted.

When Melkor looked away from his son to Nienna, he saw how content she seemed, even though she was suffering so much, to see him with their son, by her side, after everything she had been through, to give Melkor what she wanted. Because to Nienna, he seemed satisfied, happy, even, with their son.

“You two are my finest creations.” Melkor said, caressing Nienna’s face.

With dark tenderness, he smiled at her. Because he was being honest. Nienna was a creation in his hands, being shaped according to Melkor’s wishes, what he expected of her, what he hoped she would become. It was no different with their son.

Their creation, which would be as powerful as they were, perhaps even more so. Melkor cupped Nienna's face, pressing her lips, delicate and divine, against his. It was a possessive, hungry, devouring kiss.

A kiss, yes, but a promise, too. For Melkor saw far beyond, great plans, too, he had for them. Nienna would not forsake him, not anymore, when they had Nurutúrwë beside them. She would understand, he thought, kissing her with such passion, it was as if he burned for her.

In time, yes, Nienna would understand his side, Melkor was certain of it, as she kissed him back. As she had done before, when she thought it was Melkor, not Sauron, she was kissing. But Sauron, lucky bastard, knew that Nienna was too fragile to notice any difference.

Melkor kissed Nienna's face, after breaking the kiss. Carefully holding Nurutúrwë, he stood up. With all his strength, not that he needed much for that, after all, he lifted Nienna from the ground with the utmost care.

She could not walk, though. He placed Nurutúrwë in her arms, and Nienna wrapped her arms around her son protectively. Nienna did not need to ask what he was doing. Because she knew he wanted to help her, to care for her, now, and because he had not stood by her side when she needed him, even though he had promised her he would.

As protectively as Nienna held Nurutúrwë, Melkor wrapped his arms around Nienna, lifting her off the ground. It was as it should have been, she thought. It was not supposed to be Sauron who stood beside her. Honestly, she did not think she could forget the pain of that moment, but not because of the pain. She was used to pain, and the most painful part was not having Melkor by her side.

But she laid her head on Melkor's chest, letting his presence, his Shadow of malice and cruelty, envelop her. It was dark, but it was comfort to her, too. Her sorrow, Nienna thought, would yearn for his malice for all eternity.

Strangely, Melkor kissed Nienna's head, holding her so carefully, almost too protectively, as he walked her out of the dungeons. He had brought war to Middle-earth, and the Elves, to Angband, and Nienna had suffered for the decisions of others. She, however, had let Melkor protect her, care for her, in the only way he knew how.

And all in Middle-earth, even the Valar in Valinor, knew of the child's birth. Legends would tell of that day. As in the cold and desolate lands of Angband, born in the year 472 of the First Age, during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, was Nurutúrwë, son of Melkor and Nienna.

The Elves and the few Men who survived spoke of how war had come to the gates of Angband, and Elves, Men, and Dwarves fought side by side against the dominion of Melkor. But long was the battle, and countless were the losses, and all would remember it as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. The Union of Maedhros fought bravely, but few survived in the end.

When the first whispers left Angband, and the birth became known to the survivors, such horror came upon all the free peoples of Middle-earth, that they cursed the offspring of Melkor, whom they named Raukondo, the Demon Prince. Great doom fell upon all after this name was spoken, and not even the Valar could prevent the terrors that would pursue the enemies of the Dark Lord.

Well, I'm happy to introduce you to my little darling Nurutúrwë. Nienna's little golden boy! But I imagine you'd like some explanation about the name. I got a lot of help from my friend in coming up with the name, and here's the explanation:

Nurutúrwë, means: Master of Death. Quenya 'Nuru' for 'death' 'Tur' for 'master' 'Wë' is a Quenya suffix also often used as 'person, being, individual.'

Raukondo, means: Demon Prince. Quenya 'Rauco' for 'demon' 'Kundō' for 'prince, leader'

tag: @valar-did-me-wrong

[lesfeuxfollets]

"In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself."

—The Silmarillion, Valaquenta, "Of the Enemies"

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

“In all the deeds of Melkor the Morgoth upon Arda, in his vast works and in the deceits of his cunning, Sauron had a part, and was only less evil than his master in that for long he served another and not himself.”

-JRR Tolkien, Valaquenta

[starillion]

observe : me getting all Feanor-defenseive because I can >;)

(NOT that I should support or defend kinslaughter of any kind, but y'all need to give more credit to Feanor's motives and acknowledge that he is not in nature an evil person(or elf, in this matter)) i am a feanorian apologist, this is my job. this first started as a half-joke but then I realized it makes more sense than I thought it would. Feanor, if you need a defense lawyer, you know where to find me.

CONCERNING UNJUST VALAR In the post-tree death world, it wasn't like there was absolutely no alternative to breaking the Silmarils and thus bringing back the light of the two trees. Much effort was needed, sure, but with plenty of time for consideration and analysis of the situation, Yavanna succeeded in drawing from the dead trees fruits that are to be the sun & moon. And hey, they're not too bad, aren't they? In a sense that they brighten not just Valinor, but all of Middle Earth, it was perhaps better that they were made from the trees. The concept 'Arda Healed' could probably fit here. Because of the deeds of Melkor, Arda can never return to the state of being 'unmarred', and the final goal to achieve by the end of the world is to heal all those wrongs, and not in the sense that it go back to pre-malice. Hurts to the world must be lived with and endured, but consequences thereof and struggles for enhancement; for healing is what will ultimately make Arda more beautiful than before. Welp, I think I've flown a bit off-topic here, but hopefully you get what I mean that the whole of Arda in fact benefits by the existence of the sun & moon. Yet the Valar demanded the Silmarils of Feanor without further contemplation because they thought at that time that it was the only way to revive the trees. Talk about being hasty asf.

CONCERNING ALQUALONDE AND ELVES' GREATEST WORKS Ye haters of Feanor, y'all say that the Teleri were unjustly slain, and that they had all the rights to keep their swan ships. Is that not why they are never blamed for the kinslaying? Thus it has me thinking that it is common belief that it was fine for them to keep their greatest works, and the Noldor were ever so wrong to take them away. But was that not exactly what Feanor was urged to do mere pages (in the reckoning of the book) ago? Why should he give up possession of his Silmarils when the Teleri can get away with hoarding their ships? They were dear to him and he would have fought against anyone who tried to take them from him by force. I believe Iam not wrong to think that the exact same reasons justifying the Teleri before the kinslaughter work for Feanor as well in that situation. If you are going to label him selfish for not giving up the Silmarils, by all means go ahead. But many others should be blamed for possessing the same quality - Olwe, ship hoarder refusing to help a Noldor in need; Thingol and Dior, de Silmaril obsessors, etc etc.

CONCERNING REBELLION Was indeed the flight of the Noldor from Valinor a rash decision fueled by anger and vengeance, giving up the state of blessedness, and pointless, even, given that Feanor himself who initiated the rebellion dies literally a chapter later and the Noldor live in doom™️ until Eonwe & the vanyar come to their rescue? I certainly would not call the entire stay in Beleriand full of mirth, but am inclined to think

that it would be much better than the only alternative - of them not returning to Middle Earth at all. (Now I'm going to stick to the middle school essay stereotype by numbering the supporting details as : ) Firstly, if not for the Noldorin presence in Beleriand, men who came thither would have been met with harsher fate. In the Athrabeth(Morgoth's Ring, part 4) it is said that it is thus believed (the urge to say 'it is said that it is said') by men themselves that the evils of Melkor shortened their previously endless life spans and that his shadow had always been upon them since who knows how long. While Finrod in his converse with Andreth is rather dubious of the former, still imagine the power of Morgoth upon Middle Earth without constraint - what evil would have befallen them had men encountered not lords of the Eldalie, but servants of Morgoth upon entering Beleriand! Now would be a good place to mention that in one of Tolkien's often contradictory notes (but one of them nevertheless and probably rather valid among them as well) the origin of orcs was not elf but man. With Middle Earth under his power and its people his thralls, why should he not assail the Valar once again? And all the while,what is so honorable in being cooped up in a once-blessed land like cowards as the enemy who killed your dad and stole your gems gains power not too afar? Repeatedly emphasized in the books (perhaps similar in frequency with commentary about its members' unnatural tallness) is the valiance of the Noldor. It would only be natural for them to wage war upon Morgoth headfirst. And Feanor, a manifestation of such qualities, have done little wrong in leading the so-called exile - or banishment - to Middle Earth. 'Wrong timing', some would say. But had the host tarried long, the vengeance aflame in their hearts would have dwindled (and such a thing Feanor indeed feared, having him lead his people away in much haste) and one's regret and sorrow at departure - if after much time had passed, any decided to leave at all - would have doubled by then.

Thus I endeavor to defend the deeds of Feanaro Curufinwe (and may he forgive the absence of vowel-lengthening in his name because I am simply too lazy to do so. i know it alters the location of the stress in the name and to be called fEAnaro would be terribly stressful, i'm sorry. i'm also sorry for this blabber. maybe i should have copy/pasted a long 'a' instead of blabbering.), inclined to dub them as 'necessary evils' (evil deeds, i emphasize. not by evil persons(or elves in this matter)) that gave rise to perhaps more good compared to the scenario in which they never happened. And that was probably the most eloquent I have gotten in weeks. Boy, what Feanor makes me do ;)