#blind you be morgoth bauglir

[cuthalions]

“Blind you are Morgoth Bauglir, and blind shall ever be, seeing only the dark. You know not what rules the hearts of Men, and if you knew you could not give it. But a fool is he who accepts what Morgoth offers. [...] Do you forget to whom you speak? Such things you spoke long ago to our fathers; but we escaped from your shadow. And now we have knowledge of you, for we have looked upon the faces that have seen the light, and heard the voices that have spoken with Manwë. Before Arda you were, but others also; and you did not make it. Neither are you the most mighty; for you spent your strength upon yourself and wasted it in your own emptiness. No more are you now than an escaped thrall of the Valar. And their chain still awaits you.” — THE CHILDREN OF HÚRIN, CHAPTER III: THE WORDS OF HÚRIN AND MORGOTH

[outofangband]

The Chaining of Melko from the Book of Lost Tales, Part one. I have an uninterrupted transcript of the most relevant part here but thought I’d go through this part by part because it’s fascinating, we see a side of Manwë that’s not really seen in the finalized Silm and of course the dynamics between Tulkas, Melkor and Manwë are very interesting 

This is going to get long and wordy so most will end up being under a cut!  warning for non graphic discussion of the implications of “power and pleasure”

edit: first attempt of my version of the scene!

edit: I’m probably going to go back and add more to this several times as well as do some general edits for clarity of reading 

Brief context: the Valar are outside Utumno to confront Melkor 

Then Tulkas angered smote (the gate) thunderously with his great fist and they rang and stirred not but Oromë alighting grasped his horn and blew such a blast thereon that they fled open instantly and Manwë raised his immeasurable voice and bade Melko come forth...But deep down within those halls he heard him and wasn’t out he would not come but sent Langon, his servant and said by him that “Behold, he was rejoiced and in wonder to see the gods before his gates.  Now would he gladly welcome them yet for the poverty of his abode not more than two of them could he fitly entertain and he begged that neither Manwë nor Tulkas be of the two for the one merited and the other demanded hospitality of great cost and riches. Should this not be to their mind then would he fain harken to Manwë’s herald and learn what it were the gods is so greatly desired that they must leave their soft couches and indolence of Valinor for the bleak places where Melko labored humbly and did his toilsome work”

one of the few instances of Langon appearing! There is a LOT that Melkor says so I’ll try to make this quick! Also I love Tulkas in his anger and I am intrigued by the horns!

Melkor saying “my house isn’t nice enough for visitors” in an attempt to delay a fight that he will lose is objectively funny and I love how blatant he is in his rules! No Manwë or Tulkas entering because “one merited and the other demanded hospitality of great costs and riches”. So Manwë deserves better hospitality but Tulkas would unfairly demand it? Maybe I’m missing something but I don’t think that the state of the fortress or its luxuries is going to be Tulkas’s great concern

And that last line is just rude! “If you insist on Manwë and Tulkas entering, then just tell my servant why you’re here and why you left your nice comfortable life to bother me while I do all the work”? I’m reminded vaguely of what he says in The Lay of Leithian here!  Melkor seems to enjoy making passive aggressive references to the ‘indolence’ and privilege of Valinor as though he has been unfairly cast from it when in reality, in this instance the Valar have come to try and persuade him to return and in The Lay, Melkor has willingly left Valinor and is only now barred due to actions entirely his own. 

Then Manwë and Ulmo and all the Gods were exceeding wroth at the subtlety and fawning insolence of his words, and Tulkas would have started straightaway raging down the narrow stairs that descended out of sight beyond the gates but the others withheld him and Aulë gave council that it was clear from Melko’s words that he was awake and wary in this matter and it could most plainly be seen which of the Gods he was most in fear of and desired least to see standing in his halls. “therefore” said he, “let us devise how these twain may come upon him unawares and how fear may perchance drive him into betterment of ways”. To this Manwë assented saying that all their force might scarce dig Melkor from his stronghold whereas that deceit must be very cunningly woven that would ensnare the master of guile. “Only by his pride is Melko assailable,” quoth Manwë, “Or by such a struggle as would rend the earth and bring evil upon us all” and Manwë sought to avoid all strife twixt Ainur and Ainur. When therefore the Gods had concerted a plan to catch Melko in his overweening pride they wove cunning words purporting to come from Manwë himself and those words they put in the mouth of Nornorë who descended and spoke them before the seat of Melko. 

the Valar are angry but no one is as angry as Tulkas who they have to hold back! Aulë suggests that they try to scare Melkor into compliance and use the fact that he doesn’t want either Tulkas or Manwë in his house.  Not likely to work but if I might wager a guess, Aulë knows. He just also knows that the best way for this to end at all is via Tulkas and Manwë entering. 

Manwë agrees though points out that they are dealing with the lord of lies himself and so must be precise in how they go about this. Melkor loves flattery and even if he’s aware that the Valar are up to something, he’ll take some time out of his day to have his ego stroked. So they send in a servant to read a letter from Manwë

“Behold! The Gods be come to ask the pardon of Melko for seeing his great anger and the rending of the world beneath his rage they have said one to another: ‘Lo! wherefore is Melko displeased?’ and one to another have answered beholding the tumults of his power: ‘Is he not the greatest among us-why dwells not the mightiest of the Valar in Valinor? Of a surety he has cause for indignation. Let us get us to Utumna and beseech him to dwell in Valinor that Valmar be not empty of his presence. To this, Tulkas alone would not assent but Manwë bowed to the common voice (this the Gods said knowing the rancour that Melkor had for Poldórea) and now they have come constraining Tulkas with violence to beg thee to pardon them each one and to fare home with them and complete their halls of glory, dwelling, if it be thy pleasure in the halls of Makar until such a time as Aulë can build thee a great house; and its towers shall overtop Taniquetil” to This Melko answer eagerly for already his boundless pride surged up an drowned his cunning 

 the scenario that Manwë has painted for Melkor is really funny; the Valar are just hanging out in Valinor and start turning to to each other to say, “hey why do you think Melkor is angry” and respond “well he is the best of us and he doesn’t live in Valinor! of course he’s angry! It would be so much better if he was here”. BUT Manwë knows that Melkor would never believe that Tulkas would speak like this! So he makes sure to clarify “Tulkas disagreed but don’t worry! we chained him up violently and dragged him here!”  I was talking with @forestials about this but I find it really funny that Melkor was apparently willing to believe or even pretend to believe that all of the other Valar turned on Tulkas because he said Melkor shouldn’t come to Valinor. “You know what Valinor’s missing? Melkor. Let’s make enemies with one of the most easygoing but strong Valar and chain him up to appease Melkor”-no one ever. Perhaps Tulkas is the most direct threat to Melkor but he’s certainly not the only one who hates him. can you imagine say, Ulmo or Tulkas’s wife deciding that they’d rather have Melkor in Valinor than Tulkas? 

And more seriously, This is a side of Manwë we don’t really see in the finalized Silm! And it’s a really interesting one! He’s not naive enough to think that they can just nicely ask Melkor to stop being himself and even though he’d like that to be the case, his reasoning for using deception over outright violence is practical rather than a simple “violent intervention is always wrong” . Poldórea by the way is another name for Tulkas. It means the strong. 

And Manwë’s rather cold pragmatism is about to become even more apparent, as is Tulkas’s loyalty. 

“At last do the Gods speak fair words and just, but ere I grant their boon my heart must be appeased for old affronts. Therefore must they come, putting aside their weapons at the gate and do homage to me in these my deep halls of (Utumno). -But lo! Tulkas I will not see and if I come to Valinor then I will thrust him out!” 

Melkor, you won’t even let Tulkas enter your home, how are you going to single-handedly throw him out of Valinor...my heart must be appeased for old affronts. I do appreciate his honesty in his response but that sentence fills me with dread. 

...And Tulkas smote his hands in wrath but Manwë returned answer that the Gods would do as (Melkor’s) heart desired yet would Tulkas come and that in chains and be given to Melkor’s power and pleasure; and this was Melkor eager to grant for the humiliation of the Valar, and the chaining of Tulkas gave him great mirth. 

So this is very interesting. Manwë might not fully comprehend evil but he’s aware enough to play into this particular desire of Melkor’s; the desire to humiliate and dominate his enemies, to punish those who have insulted him.  Power and pleasure is quite a provocative phrasing. I actually surveyed a few non Tolkien fandom acquaintances as well as my family to make sure this wasn’t simply my dark mind (and confirmed with friends in the Silm fandom!) and yeah the overwhelming consensus is this has sexual overtones. Or more accurately, overtones of sexual violence. I talk here about Melkor’s canonical examples of this albeit briefly but it’s well...it’s a jarring phrase especially in context. 

Worth noting here that in earlier versions, Tulkas was a sun deity. Melkor canonically displays a lust towards Arien as well as more generally towards figures associated with light. Lust here can mean and probably does both sexual and philosophical. 

We don’t know exactly what being given to Melkor for his power and pleasure entails though we do get a small hint in the part after next of what his plans for Tulkas are.  I also need to emphasize again this is Manwë’s idea. 

Then the Valar laid aside their weapons at the gate, setting however folk to guard them and placed the chain Angaino about the neck and arms of Tulkas and even he might scarce support its great weight alone and now they follow Manwë and his herald into the caverns of the North. There sat Melkor in his chair and that chamber was lit with flaming braziers and full of evil magic and strange shapes moved with feverish movement in and out but snakes of great size curled and uncurled without rest about the pillars that upheld that lofty roof. Then said Manwë “Behold, we have come and salute you here in your own halls, come now and in Valinor.” 

This is an awesome description! I have a lot to say about the environment but I’ll leave most of that for another time. However I am curious about the snakes; we know from the association with Finarfin’s house that snakes are not a creature deemed inherently evil in Tolkien’s world, unless this is something that changes. 

But we get to one of my favorite points. 

Tolkien notes that Tulkas is furious enough to try and break down the gate and run in alone twice, he’s furious at Melkor’s insult to the Valar, he’s furious at Melkor’s ego being stroked even if it’s just for a ruse...but there’s no mention of him being angry or protesting when Manwë purports to literally chain him up and throw him to the feet of their Enemy. He doesn’t protest or fight when he’s bound in Angainur, a chain so heavy even he, strongest of the Valar, cannot hold it himself. Angainur means “the oppressor” and Tulkas willingly bears its burden or at least does so without complaint. We don’t even know if Manwë discussed this with him at all or if the first Tulkas heard about this plan was through Manwë’s words to Melkor. I absolutely love the trust and loyalty that he has in Manwë throughout these events. Love the lord/vassal and fealty dynamics. 

But Melkor might not thus easily forgo his sport. ‘Nay first,” said he, ‘Wilt thou come Manwë and kneel before me and after you all the Valar but last shall come Tulkas and kiss my foot for I have in mind something for which I owe Poldórea no great love.” Now he purposed to spurn Tulkas in the mouth in payment of that buffet long ago but the Valar had foreseen something of this and did but make play of humiliation that Melkor might thereby be lured from his stronghold. In sooth Manwë hoped even to the end for peace and amity and the Gods would at his bidding indeed have received Melkor in Valinor under truce and pledges of friendship had not his pride been insatiate... Now however was scant mercy left for him in their hearts, seeing that he abode Manwë should do homage and Tulkas bend to those ruthless feet; nonetheless the Lord of Gods and Elves approaches now the chair and makes to kneel for such was their plan the more to ensnare the evil one - but lo, so fiercely did wrath blaze up in the hearts of Tulkas and Aulë at that sight that Tulkas leapt across the hall at a bound despite Angaino...

So when Tolkien says he wished to spurn Tulkas in the mouth, it seems that means he wants to kick him, spurn has several obsolete and archaic definitions.  And Tulkas bend to those ruthless feet...

I am also very curious how long Tulkas would have gone along with this humiliation had Melkor not insisted on the insult to Manwë as well. How far would Manwë have let Melkor go with Tulkas especially if he still thought that there was a chance of this ending peacefully. This Manwë doesn’t strike me as naive. Though there is some ambiguity in whether or not the exact wording is Melkor’s orders or Manwë’s promise, the fact that Tulkas is being dragged in in chains to suffer is made very obvious. Would they have, for example, left him at Utumno for any length of time? 

I have a few posts on the aftermath because there are some great parts including Tulkas in court insisting that they unchain Melkor so he can fight him in a field instead and Manwë telling him to calm down. 

anyways I just

How far would Manwë have let Melkor go. (x10) 

I’ve been annoying the fuck out of some friends in the fandom, namely mai-sau and jail-crow-of-mandos by asking this to them like every day for three weeks. 

[finmoryo]

My favorite Tolkien related songs (all on Spotify and Youtube)

The Song of Durin by Clamavi de Profundis

A cover of the song Gimli sings in LOTR

It’s just so good

For another good song, listen to Lament for Boromir

Finrod and Sauron by Lind Erebros

This song rocks so hard

The russian accent is amazing and fits Sauron well 

Anything to do with this song battle makes me happy (in other words listen to the Clamavi de Profundis cover of the poem)

The Noldolante and Lay of Leithian Elven Oratories are so good. A mix of rock, instrumental, and other songs that I don’t know how to describe.

The Fall of Finrod by Rivendell

Yes, it’s another song about Finrod and Sauron’s battle

In fact, it’s a cover of it

A more metal cover

Starts off calmly, screams for a while, then becomes calm again, then screams at the end

Though it wouldn’t really call it screaming it’s just kind of a rough voice

I like this band. They cover some Tolkien poems but not in the melodic calm way Clamavi de Profundis does. 

Noldor (Dead Winter Reigns) by Blind Guardian

About the Doom of Mandos

Kinda makes me sad when I think about it, but this song is very much rock

Listen to the whole Nightfall in Middle-earth album. I bought a physical copy of this album just so I could listen to it in my car every day.

Eol the Dark by Feanor

Was apprehensive at first but then listened on repeat for a day

I like the more melodic parts when Eöl begs Maeglin and Aredhel to come back

Feanor by Númenor

I just really like the part where he sings the word Fëanor

It’s the only word I can understand

A great song by a great band who I need to listen to more

Not all of their songs are Tolkien related but are still good

In fact, one of them has Hansi Kürsch from Blind Guardian in it

Bauglir by Summoning

This band was too much screaming for me at first

But I learned to love them

Listened to this song first and it was really good even though it’s not singing

About Morgoth talking to Húrin

For the Kingdom I Shall Claim by Dwarrowdelf

Beginning reminds me of Land of the Dead by Summoning and also of some of the other songs from a different album by this artist

This whole album is about Aragorn w/ an Arwen song too

I’ve heard this album described as melodeath and it’s a style I very much love

Another good song from it is The Three Hunters, I just like the mention of Boromir

Listen to the Sons of Fëanor album you will not regret it

Her Mighty Heart - Keys of Orthanc

Metal but has some melodic bits

Éowyn fighting the Witchking

My cat left the room as soon as I started listening to this to write about it

[ao3feed-angbang]

See You Later?

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2tI3NIU

by TinyParrot

Mairon and Melkor say goodbye before Melkor is thrown in the Void. This is pretty short, with a lot of dialogue. My first fic that I've published on this site. Enjoy!

Words: 479, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor, Sauron | Mairon

Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon

Additional Tags: Angst, So much angst, I'm Sorry, Angbang is actually healthy, probably has some accidental Blind Guardian references

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2tI3NIU

[outofangband]

"Wake up, Maitimo."

(send the first line of a story and I'll write some more of it!)

This got a bit longer than five but oh well 

CW: some general creepiness from Morgoth 

masterlist 

"Wake up, Maitimo!" Tyelko was poised above his brother, shaking his shoulder with what Maitimo felt was quite unnecessary force. The older elf groaned and blinked up at the excitable child. Tyelko would not be deterred by his less than cheerful disposition let alone on a day like today when he was clearly already worked up over something. Whatever it was would likely cause trouble if Maitimo did not get up to intervene.  "I am awake," he says grudgingly, much to Tyelko's delight.

...

"Wake up, Maitimo." The soft words were accompanied by the lightest of touches to his bruised face and Maitimo awoke to the clutches of fear as the shadows of his sleep gave way to the present threat of the Moringotto looming over him. The elf’s eyes fluttered open though there was not much he could see in the blinding light of the jewels the Dark Lord wore on His crown. Maitimo could not suppress a shiver as long, spindly fingers caressed the side of his face with mocking tenderness. 

“I have not yet finished with thee.” 

...

"Wake up, Maitimo!" The whisper was urgent and Maedhros woke up suddenly, looking into the frightened face of his cousin. Awareness returns not quite as rapidly and for a few minutes he is not entirely sure where he is and why the younger elf is perched so anxiously at the foot of his bed. That is before the pain makes itself known, familiar pain that lights up what seems like half his body, making him fall back against his pillows, heavy and tired. 

"I am sorry," Finno muttered, looking him over, dark eyes shining with worry, "You were having a nightmare, I was unsure what to..." Maedhros shakes his head.

"It is alright, do not apologize," he says gruffly as the room swims around him

[outofangband]

helpless for Maeedhros for the prompt list :)

from this list here!

requests are still very much open and welcome!

Angband world building masterlist  masterlist 

(note: my Maedhros tags, In the Iron Hell, and  post Angband tags have like over a hundred more posts about Maedhros’s experience in and after Angband !)

CW: enforced nudity, captivity, restraints, Melkor being creepy 

Maitimo had of course been forced to grapple with an ever increasing helplessness since the day of the ambush. But what tore through him as the Dark Lord approached where he was chained, splayed naked on his back, was a terror he had not yet experienced.  

Maitimo had never before felt his heart seize so painfully from fear.

Anger tried to flood his fear and his breath caught in his throat along with a million curses and threats he couldn’t quite make himself scream. The memory of the laughter of Moringotto upon hearing his furious shouts cascaded into the present where Maitimo was certain the sound still echoed softly, even if he had not yet seen the thin lips of his Enemy move. Though the dreadful face was as always shadowed by the light from the stolen jewels.

Maitimo did not look at these. Moringotto always seemed to know when the elf’s gaze, or even his thoughts, strayed to the horror crown.

The Vala’s smile was a terrible thing as He stood beside the furious elf bound to the table, gathering up a fistful of red hair and tugging harshly. Maitimo gasped as his head was thrown back, the motion causing him to swallow a mouthful of his own coppery blood that had trickled down from a cut on his forehead. He had tried thrashing and struggling when he was initially brought here and had succeeded in nothing but earning a few strikes from a blunt implement wielded by one of the guards and in possibly spraining one wrist.

“Nelyafinwë,” Melkor greeted. A finger ghosted along His prisoner’s chest. Maitimo opened his mouth to retort, something reckless and defiant, something to deflect from the sheer helplessness he felt laid bare like this in front of his enemy, felt by His cold, ancient hand. The words were never given sound as two fingers of the Dark Lord’s burnt hand pressed to his lips and it was as though they stole away the brave, if false words before Maitimo could speak them.

“Preserve thy voice, stubborn little thing, I wish to make thee scream.” The elf’s eyes flew open and something dark swarmed around his heart. The Vala no longer stood at his left side, was instead standing at his right, closer to the other end of the table.

The fingers of His uninjured hand had not left his abdomen. They now traced between a few of the speckles just above his naval, the claw like nails leaving faint marks, just a hint of pain. From the position Maitimo was bound in he could do nothing but look down as he was molested. Confusion at the lack of outright violence and pain melding with the creeping horror at the way the Vala was regarding him.

“I will not scream for you.” Maedhros spoke calmly, indeed, far more calmly than he felt. His delayed response prompted the Vala to move His fingers further up to rest over his heart. The touch was both intimate and detached. Maitimo could not remember the touch of one of the Ainur lingering on him for more than the briefest of gestures of greeting and respect during various ceremonies and events in Valinor.

“I feel thy heart as the panicked fluttering of a trapped songbird. Thou art stubborn but I shall draw thy screams before I finish with thee today.” A soft gasp was earned when the pressure was increased and claw like nails were raked over his chest, drawing a line between several speckles there.

Note: I go into the fear powers of Melkor in a few other fics in more detail. I also have lots of headcanons on what elven freckles actually are. And on that ceremony where Maitimo was touched by one of the Ainur. 

[outofangband]

forced to kneel/bow for hurin?

For @badthingshappenbingo, I hope this is ok, anon! Let me know if you wanted something else!

Masterlists

Forced to kneel/bow

Characters from: The Silmarillion/The Children of Húrin by JRR Tolkien 

Luckily Húrin is super compliant and obedient when captured so this was a very simpl-

warnings: captivity, restraints, manhandling, threats, Morgoth being himself, failed attempt at mind invasion, some dehumanization 

This is actually pretty mild though, just Húrin doing his very best to be the worst captive ever

Note: I think that the next Húrin piece will be quite darker, possibly the first hidden hours tag piece he gets so yeah just thought I’d warn in advance

edit: I got another bad things happen BINGO prompt for him so actually the next piece won’t be the super dark one 

The man rose slowly from the floor again, this time clearly favoring one leg over the other. Seven times so far Melkor had watched him refuse the order, receive a vicious strike from the balrog who held the chain to his neck, sending him sprawling to the ground, rising each time more battered and bloodied but no less obstinate. It was unlikely that the day would end in the stubborn creature willingly obeying, Melkor could only take what petty comfort He could in seeing the resulting punishment which would hopefully aid in sinking in the sacred rule of the fortress Húrin Thalion did not seem to care to learn; disobedience would lead only to pain, for himself and often for others. 

Then again, a fortnight of various abuses had not, the Dark Lord conceded with a bitter fury, made the man any more agreeable. Quite the opposite. He did not typically involve Himself in the interrogation of His prisoners and He certainly did not typically deign to engaging with the small number of human thralls. But He had known even when He had ordered the man's capture that this would be different. The reward He sought too great to leave to lesser hands. 

The reward He was no nearer to achieving then the previous day. Melkor had not bothered to demand information this session, it was clear what the answer was to be. Instead He returned to His attempts at merely breaking the man’s will, a will that should have been so weak He could simply crush it in one hand. 

It was nearly two hours since Húrin Thalion had been dragged into the throne room for the fresh attempt at obedience training. Melkor was growing impatient and bored, neither of which boded well for the prisoner. 

When He spoke next it was a new tactic He tried. The ancient power emanating from Him could not be so easily scorned. Melkor hummed a low note. The man’s eyes flickered to him and to two sides of the room and the Dark Lord smiled to Himself. His captive was not certain where the source lay and that would aid in the effects. 

“Kneel before me and you shall rest. Is this performance truly worth the hurts? Surely thy strength would be better used, Thalion.” 

The Vala’s voice was softer now, a silky whisper that seemed to creep into not only the ears but the minds too of those who heard it, mingling with their own thoughts and settling among them.  

For a moment the man went still, almost comically so, expression blank and hands frozen halfway to his face where presumably he meant to wipe away a trickle of blood. Melkor waited, eyes glinting with anticipation. It had not been a particularly powerful note but He had known elves to fall easily to it. A man should easily. 

But the gentle urge to obey was evidently too alien a thought to the mortal to be properly absorbed. Húrin shuddered, chains jerking as he raised his hands up, taking a step forward. He was definitely limping now. Melkor studied the wretched little thing, golden hair strewn over his face, bare chest a mess of bloodied lashes and worse, torn trousers falling only to his bruised knees, he should have been pathetic in the glow of the Silmarils. He was pathetic. 

“I will never kneel for you. Never, Morgoth.”  Húrin spoke through gritted teeth, blood trickling steadily down his face. Melkor had never heard even His false name spoken so casually. Even as He gestured to the balrog again who raised its whip, He felt a rage burning within Him. These petty torments simply would not do. He must find another way. 

[outofangband]

CW: blanket Angband warnings for captivity, restraints, enforced nudity, Morgoth being creepy

Angband world building and aftermath of captivity masterlist 

The Vala watched with faint amusement as the two guards he had summoned unlocked each of the prisoner’s chained arms. The elf was so weak he had little choice but to fall from the shackles that held him, unable even to use the wall to support himself.

The Dark Lord lifted up a few strands of red hair that had fallen over his face, becoming tinged with the deeper red of his blood. Even such exhaustion could not drown the intrinsic fear the Children held when He stood so close. Much as he tried to conceal it, Moringotto drank in the way the body of Nelyafinwë tensed, the minute trembles that arose in his aching limbs, the sharp intake of breath…

Seeing the spitfire eldest of His old enemy practically cowering again the filthy wall in a feeble attempt to avoid His touch brought a hum of satisfaction, even if His previous darker mood that had brought Him here was not yet lifted.

“Come, Nelyafinwë,” He murmurs, tilting the chin of the elf up with one long, pointed finger, “Thou must now know there is no hiding from thy lord.”

On previous occasions, He would have been met with a furious, sharp You are not my lord! But today the Noldo merely glared up at Him, the slight movement in his throat perhaps a swallowing of the words he might have wished to speak.

Something of a smile curled upon the lips of The Moringotto.

“Good,” He croons, tracing the finger up along the cheekbone. Nelyafinwë shivers, one arm jerking almost convulsively. Praise from his Enemy would sting far more than most insults. Moringotto watched with amused interest as His prisoner struggled with his waning fury and pride, knowing any outburst would be met with cruel retaliation that would nonetheless restore him no dignity.

It was a bitter truth to swallow but all brought here must, in the end. Moringotto was not particularly patient but in this regard He felt no desire to rush the process. It was not as though the defiance of His captive was unamusing to Him. 

Humiliation may burn and die in those bright eyes as Nelyafinwë gave up his fighting but shame could fester there forever

[outofangband]

three dark little drabbles I couldn’t get out of my head

CW: blanket Angband warning for imprisonment/captivity, individual warnings before second and third 

Interconnected begetting day drabbles

Please feel free to reblog! I’m actually proud of these! and as always feel free to message me if you want to read my uncensored versions of things until I’m comfortable posting them again!

masterlist 

The Vala wore an expression of mock thoughtfulness under the harsh light of the crown. Long fingers poised together as He considered his captive.

“Perhaps you speak truthfully, Nelyafinwë. Perhaps we might make a fresh attempt.”

“I am not so foolish nor arrogant as to believe I might barter with the Lord of lies.” He spits out the words before he can lose his nerve.

“Barter?” The Dark Lord tilted His head in an unnervingly innocent gesture, “What might you offer me, dear one? Information you will withhold right up until I prize it from thine own unwilling lips? We need not revisit that little discussion so soon.” 

“Then what is it you want?” Maedhros asks hoarsely.

The Moringotto actually smiles at him.

...

CW: implied sexual assault

“Maitimo, Maitimo…” the Dark Lord spoke in something of a song and the song pierced him with dread as his mind fought to reconcile the soft lilted words with the ancient being looming above him, “Look to me, pretty Maitimo.”

Maitimo’s only managed response was a sharp intake of breath at the next sensation. He had not opened his eyes since the Vala had first laid hand to him this day. What had felt as cowardice to him had instead been taken for defiance though his Enemy’s mood allowed this to be met with teasing touches rather than pain. As though he would not have gladly taken pain a thousand times over before this. 

 A god should have no need for this.

“Wilt thou attempt to hide thy pretty face for the entirety of our joining, little jewel?” Something tickles one tattered ear though he could have sworn the demon’s face was closer to his other side. 

It mattered not what he attempted, he was lain utterly bare here. 

...

CW: aftermath of torture, humiliation 

“A joyous Begetting Day to you, Maitimo,” Mairon smirked as his long nails caressed the face of the trembling prisoner, feeling the muscles of his jaw tense underneath his fingers as he tried to pull away.

“Now, now,” the Maia chided lightly, turning to his master with mock offense, “Tis not polite to refuse the well wishes of one as important as I? I had heard such tales of the diplomatic tongues of Noldorin kings.”

“You must forgive Nelyafinwë here, Mairon.” The Vala reclined upon his throne, one hand casually gripping the back of his trophy’s head, “He has had quite a taxing day so far, have you not, little one?”

The elf’s eyes were bright with tears yet unshed, the shock of the previous hours had not left him. He gave a weak shudder at being addressed by the Dark Lord but did not answer.

“Whatever did you do to him, My Lord?” Maitimo is vaguely aware that the Lieutenant is speaking again, light and cold like the prance of a cat, “He is ever so confused. Nearly unresponsive. I do wonder...” 

@miriel-estelwen @mozart-the-meerkitten @evilwriter37 @tears-and-lilies @oswaldinator3000

[outofangband]

Morgoth with his guests of honor, part two

Plus a bonus character I haven’t yet written before

Part one here (connected only by theme, definitely don’t have to read)

General Angband content warning for captivity and restraint, mentions of injuries, Melkor being creepy

masterlist 

Maitimo Nelyafinwë

The Vala is several heads taller than he is with almost sickly pale skin that grayed around the edges of the long, dark robes, creating the effect (if it was merely an effect) that they were part of the same material. Maitimo realizes that he had not seen the Moringotto since he still inhabited his previous form as part of the charade of Melkor. Yes, he had seen a glimpse of Him on that dreadful day when He had passed them near Formenos but he had been in no state to process what he saw and the significant distance and the obscuring clouds prevented a clear image.

The Silmarils had marred Him, diminished Him. This was not a comfort to Maitimo. Moringotto diminished was still a creature of immense power and now it felt trapped, contained in this lesser form so that the elf was constantly aware of a foreboding, a tension surrounding them, ready to crack open and swallow him.

Later, Maitimo would come to believe that such imagery, of shadows and crackling and holes opening up to consume and a million more, were indeed part of the experience of the Moringotto’s presence. Even diminished, the Dark Lord was larger than life. With His voice came thunder and the erosion of ancient m structures. With His touch came worse.

Húrin Thalion

The dream fades into the cracked ceiling and bleak walls. Húrin is lying sprawled on the ground, the cold of the chain around his ankle has not faded since it was first fastened onto him. It was not this that woke him however. His dirty hair is strewn across his face, somewhat obscuring his vision but he needs not his eyes to know who stands over him

“Get up,” the Vala sneers and Húrin feels the tremblings of a bitter laugh echo in his throat.

“I hardly see what difference it might make, refusing you from the ground or doing so crouched against the wall, Morgoth,” Húrin says quietly as he attempts to rise, wincing in pain. The casual way the man speaks this name always infuriates him and he lands a sharp kick to Húrin’s chest so he is knocked backwards to the ground again.

“I-I thought you wanted me to rise!” Húrin manages to choke out even as his breath is temporarily gone from him. Morgoth actually snarls as he moves forward with unnatural speed to seize him by his hair and drag him to his feet so that his legs are moved painfully against the uneven ground, reopening more old cuts. Húrin has difficulty maintaining his balance when the Vala releases him, swaying on his feet. 

“Do not disappoint me, Thalion,” Morgoth says softly, “We have quite some time before I am finished with you today.” Húrin‘s eyes narrow as he lets himself fall back against the wall. 

Maeglin Lómin

Maeglin was cold. He could not remember the last time cold had so completely consumed him, nor did he understand exactly where it came from. As he was dragged by two orcs to the tiny cell he currently crouched in, it had been blasts of hot air that had assaulted him, the burning red of the coals and furnaces that made up the vast subterranean forges.

The Dark Lord releases him from his chains. The elf could only find this more ominous, even as he touched his own wrists gingerly. The skin there was raw and painful. When Maeglin tried to look up, his vision was taken completely by the looming figure before him. Perhaps the removal of the chains was not so ominous; there was no escaping here regardless of whether or not he was bound. They both knew it.

“I will not remain here for long, child,” Morgoth says as Maeglin catches his breath, “Tell me why I should not simply leave you here to languish in the dark?” Maeglin has never before feared the dark before being brought here. Indeed it had been a source of comfort for him.

Maeglin was not yet ready to answer Morgoth’s proposition. He knew it would not be long.

Lúthien Tinúviel

Each brush of her feet on the cold stone beneath her tingles with an unhelpful awareness of her entire form. It is quite unlike any dance she has performed even as she gathers and manipulates familiar movements. There is no forest here to accompany her song, only the far away cacophony of iron and suffering, dissonant and grating.

The air that fills her lungs as she sings fills her mind with dreadful images of toxic fumes and landscapes choked by black smoke. Her dance does not falter as she fills the bleak hall with the echoes of her voice. The eyes of the dark lord bore into her, his position on his throne above her meaning he did not ever have to move to keep her in sight even when she strayed towards the very edges of the spacious throne room, flitting in and out of the spots of dim light afforded by the strangely wrought lanterns. Lúthien was lithe and strong but the energy she had spent on the initial breaching of the fortress had been significant and she found herself soon longing for those eyes to flicker out to mean the end of her dance. But she knew she could not keep her thoughts only on that if she was to continue without error.

Author’s note: I hope this is ok! That was my first time writing Lúthien

[outofangband]

alharaca (spanish, n.) - an extraordinary or violent emotional reaction to a small issue — Tell me that isn't Morgoth. I'll let you decide whether it was Maedhros or Húrin that made him so mad.

From this prompt list here! Still accepting them!

Why not both, anon! 

Two scenes, several hundreds of years apart, both of Morgoth losing his temper 

General Angband content warnings apply; captivity, Melkor existing, implied enforced nudity, mentions of injuries, mentioned blood loss (non fatal)

I hope this is ok, anon!

masterlist 

The strike had sent him tumbling backwards, unbalancing him. Maitimo grunted as blood trickled steadily down his chin to his bare chest.

“The arrogance of thy father lives on in thee,” Melkor says softly but the undercurrent of rage seeps through each word. Maitimo wants to throw something back, demand that the demon never speak of his father but he keeps silent. It would perhaps feel brave to make such a demand but only the Moringotto would truly gain if he did so. No, it was better to pretend that such jabs had no effect on him. Even if they both knew better, Maitimo would still be denying his captor the satisfaction of his impotent, helpless anger. The monster practically fed upon it.

Meanwhile, the Vala’s own anger had started to fade, simmering back into its usual poisonous cold. He regarded Maitimo through the eerie light of the Silmarils. The elf got to his feet again, somewhat reluctant to stand bare in front of his enemy, figuratively and literally. There was a silence in the cavernous chambers. The cold metal of the collar bit at his skin, Maitimo wasn’t sure why he found himself so suddenly aware of it but he managed to stop his hand going to his neck, a gesture that would have been certain to lead to more amusement from Moringotto.

“What is it we shall next attempt?” The Dark Lord poses quietly, almost gently but as always his voice carries with it something more, like a great rumbling from under the earth Maitimo feels more than hears. He cannot think of any answer as Moringotto circles round his throne and approaches him once more.

“Nelyafinwë, here.” Maedhros glares up, nails digging into his palms as he considers his options. If he does not obey, that claw like hand will reach out and physically pull him forward and he does not want it to touch him. But giving in brings a different stab of horror and shame. Even if his every movement is laced with exhausted defiance, even if he does not look up, Maedhros will feel the triumph and taunts on the face of the Dark Lord. The image, distorted and horrific as it was contaminated with that evil power, was burned into Maedhros’s mind.

...Many, many years later...

Húrin glared up at his enemy, acutely aware of the difficulty in maintaining any sort of dignity like this, naked and strapped to a table. The day (if it was day) had gone about as well as the one before that. And that. He had lost track of time and the not infrequent periods of delirium, fever, or other altered consciousness whether due to his injuries or deliberately induced did not help. 

It was some consolation that for Morgoth that day (and all those previous) had not gone particularly well either. By the end of it, Húrin was bloodied, battered, beaten, and very often miserable. And the Dark Lord was no closer to finding Gondolin than he had been when they started. 

Perhaps it was this frustration that had lead to his captor’s latest temper tantrum (On a previous occasion, Húrin had called it this aloud to predictable results). Morgoth’s blade, or rather the blade he had been using on the man that day, made a vicious sweeping movement over his chest. Húrin didn’t bother to hide his cry of pain, strangled by how dry his throat was. The knife was raised again but apparently Morgoth thought better of this, perhaps he thought another slash might actually kill him. Húrin felt himself growing swiftly dizzy as blood welled at the scene. It was an odd sensation, both hot and cold. He didn’t process the Vala’s noise of frustration and impatience as whatever steps necessary to stop the bleeding were performed. Húrin thought it vaguely ominous that they didn’t seem to hurt much. 

[outofangband]

Hoping to cheer up his master after an unexpected defeat, Mairon demonstrates a particularly cruel new technique he’s learned of on Melkor’s favorite Noldorin prisoner (Maedhros in Angband)

Nasty little piece a few people actually asked on discord to see, far far from the worst I’ve written but still pretty unpleasant

@meadowlarkx and @imakemywings you both wanted to see this!

Masterlist

warnings: themes of sexual assault, stress positions, humiliation, self blame

also please know I actually wrote this first draft over a year ago and my writing has since improved so don’t judge too harshly the actual writing of this (I don’t think it’s terrible or anything, just not my best) 

and finally this is just Maedhros suffering, there’s no real plot beyond that so like, don’t feel obligated to read, this was a vent fic I wrote when I was sick last year 

Maitimo twisted in his restraints, looking to the far wall before returning his gaze to the ceiling as the door opened. It was both the Moringotto and his Lieutenant who had entered, the air in the room felt already suffocating, the crackle of the Maia’s eager energy a stark contrast to the cold dread that seeped perpetually around the Dark Lord.

It was Mairon who approached him first, smiling slightly when nimble fingers felt his rabbiting heart as they traced along his bare chest.

“Should I free thy legs, even temporarily, will it be defiance I receive?”

Maitimo’s right leg had been bound in an awkward position, forced above the rest of his body and crossed over the left. He did not answer the taunt. It troubled him that the Black Foe had not yet spoken. It was rare for Him to remain so passive unless his Lieutenant was merely satisfying a test or experiment that held no interest to Him and this didn’t seem to be the case here.

Already the Maia had stood and, using more cords, tied his legs to each of the posts at the bottom of the table so they were forced apart. This was never a good indicator as to what was to come. Mairon lay one hand on his inner thigh, moving his fingers in what might have been a soothing gesture under different circumstances.

“My Lord,” Mairon addressed Melkor, “I believe this will amuse thee. It is fresh and therefore will be the most potent, tis why I wished to show thee so early.” At this, Maitimo opened his eyes, curiosity and fear getting the better of him. Neither was relieved upon seeing what was in Mairon’s hand. He was holding a root of ginger, cleaned and cut into two parts. Maitimo was still more alarmed and confused when the Maia brought it between his legs and pressed it there. He squeezed his eyes closed again as it was slowly and carefully forced into him.

As it was cut, the raw ginger burned his insides and he cried out in pain his muscles involuntarily clenched, seeming to spread the sensations further. Moringotto chuckled softly, the first sound the elf had so far heard from him. Even the quiet sound was of shifting earth and ice, it made Maitimo’s blood run cold even as his skin burned. Mairon continued to rub slow circles on his inner thighs as if trying to calm a distraught animal. As the Vala made another movement towards him, Maitimo thrashed more violently, senselessly, desperate in his need to get away. To his relief…though confusion, the Dark Lord did not yet lay hand to him.

The root inside burned and spread stinging lines of pleasure throughout his lower parts. It was a harsh, painful sensation he would not have recognized as anything akin to pleasure had he not spent so many occasions taunted as his nerves were distorted and stimulated beyond their limits Maitimo continued to whimper and groan, though he hardly registered the sound as coming from himself as he tried to twist away from his own consciousness

It was an agonizing length of time before the horrid root was taken from his body. To the elf’s dismay, the eyes of the Moringotto were still fixed upon his prone form. Maitimo did not need to meet them to know what he might see.

Maedhros something that might have been blood pool between his still bound legs. Disgusted with himself, he tried to fall asleep while his insides still stung, and it took nearly two hours before it faded enough that he could try to ignore it. Fearing that it would not be long before his tormentor’s returned, he fell into a restless, agitated slumber, filled with vague, half dreams where he both froze and burned

[outofangband]

several revised Maedhros in Angband snippets plus one new one

In the Iron Hell is my tag for Angband content, post Angband is my tag for both fiction and meta that deals with the effects of captivity and torture as well as adjustment to life after captivity (both tags have a lot of Maedhros content but have some about others too)

CW: implied abuse of all kinds, discussion of medical torture and sensory deprivation, temporary blindness, blanket Angband warnings for captivity and restraints

masterlist 

Nothing but a mess of limbs to be untangled and laid bare before the harsh glow that was the only point of light in the dark chambers. He did not feel any surface beneath him as arms were pulled taut and legs bent at angles that should have caused pain to spark through them but he registered nothing. He might have been floating or even falling. Just ahead of him he detected movement before the understanding that there was something sharp raking down his arm. It was as disembodied as he was.  As was the weight that trapped him even in this empty space where pressure should not exist. The faraway sensation was repeated on the other arm. He did not know where his arms were or if his eyes were closed, the darkness seeped into him and consumed him.

He was suspended in that darkness for period he could not count before pain finally caused the light and the cold to return to him. He must have insides, he realized because they ached and squirmed.

He was still lying prone and unmoving, bare and disjointed.

He still bled.

...

The Lieutenant had needed to assist him in sitting up. The loss of his vision was terrifying but it was the pain, sharp, dazzling pain cracking across his temple, that disoriented him. One hand on either side of him Maitimo was suddenly aware of the silence of the room. Even blinded his senses were acute; vibrations throughout his legs told him that beyond the doors a small group was walking, faint chemicals mingled with the metal and stone table that he had been strapped to...but the Maia could cloak himself in such a way that Maitimo could not tell where he stood, even when he could now easily recognize the difference in his presence versus that of his Master. 

(this might be a prelude to the eye piece)

...

“My patience thou seems quite determined to try, Nelyafinwë.” The Vala’s booming voice made his head ache as he felt it as much as heard it within the small chambers. It was difficult to say if the sound was more grating than the stone he was dragged across, still kicking frantically.

“Thy patience is not a resource abundant enough to try!” While perfectly true, Maitimo knew that his honesty was not appreciated here and so was not surprised in the slightest when the remark was met with another blow, this one sending him to the ground. Unable to break his fall with his wrists still shackled in front of him, Maitimo could not hide his cry of pain as he fell, landing with his right arm at an awkward angle.

The beating seemed to have calmed Melkor slightly. What emanated off of him as he approached was not rage.

This did not comfort Maitimo. Provoking his captor into striking him was foolish, dangerous but it was a game he understood far better than the ones he knew his Enemy delighted in. He was trapped by his injured arms, unable to get the leverage he needed to lift himself off of the ground. The room seemed silent, not even footsteps did Maitimo here nor his own breath as Moringotto stood over him, prodding his shoulder with a booted foot. The elf closed his eyes.

A clawed finger lifted his chin. The Dark Lord smirked at his glaring prisoner as he lay sprawled on the ground, drinking in his exhaustion and pain.

“Be thee worn out by so little?” the Vala taunted softly, laughter bouncing like light through the chamber as Maitimo tried to move his head. To his horror, Melkor actually lifted him up. He became acutely aware of how small and fragile he was in comparison but it was anger that next surged through him rather than panic (or perhaps it was merely masking his panic, he felt his heart like a frantic bird against the fabric of his captor’s robes). Maitimo began to thrash again to little effect, jostling his broken arm.

The fingers of the burnt hand brushed over his chest, tearing his flimsy tunic as they moved, feeling the flutter of Maitimo’s heartbeat. They did not move from his skin as He entered another chamber and placed Maitimo down on the stone table.

...

Maitimo was thrashing, screaming as the Vala pinned his arms above his head, the ancient face twisted by His rage. His struggles would be subdued easily but the sudden flare in a defiance the Dark Lord thought was near gone would be suffered by the elf for some time after. Only too recently, the boy would kneel when He entered. Melkor’s lip curled ever so slightly as the Noldo obeyed the gesture wordlessly, his position bent to approximate the closest he had so far come to a subservient stance. The blankness on his bruised face had been both a victory and a disappointment to the Vala. The blankness was gone today, replaced by the familiar, desperate fury.  Not that the Vala was particularly disappointed; the spitfire eldest son of Fëanor was far more of interest to His attentions than a mindless, broken thrall. 

[outofangband]

so my post here about Morgoth forcing Maedhros to pray to the Valar to show how they’ve forsaken him got some good reception (read: people calling me mean) so I figured I’d add fuel to the fire by sharing a preview of the longer story 

CW: blanket Angband content warning for captivity, restraints, Morgoth existing, etc, forced to kneel 

I actually have complex headcanons about how prayer to the Valar works both in Valinor and Beleriand but I’ll probably go into that later 

masterlist 

@ashintheairlikesnow and @sideblogformindtrash I know you both expressed interest in this!

“No prayers thou hast spoken for some time now.” The kneeling elf stared fixedly at the opposite wall, hands clenched into fists resting on his calves. He did not look to the voice even as its speaker drew closer to him. 

“Mercy my brother offers only too freely, Nelyafinwë.” Nelyafinwë merely looked ahead, fixating on how the light from the crown scattered across the floor. He said nothing. 

“Ask him.” 

The iron collar cut into the back of his neck as he looked up sharply. He had not expected this. There was a dreadful silence spanning several minutes. Maedhros did not know where in the room his Enemy stood and refrained with difficulty from looking around for Him. 

“And what is it I should pray for?” he finally spat out. The response was the rumbling laugh of the Vala that chilled his very core. 

“What is it you wish for, child? Rescue? Escape? Respite? Death? The response shall be the same.” He stood directly over Maedhros now, the tips of His charred fingers brushing against the back of the elf’s neck just under the collar. 

It should not have been a difficult task and yet Maitimo found his mind clouded, his senses overtaken. It was true he had not prayed during his captivity. But neither had he prayed in the years before that. Even prior to setting off for these lands, even when he still lived in the place of his birth, he felt uncertain asking the Valar for anything. He did not share all his father’s beliefs yet it still would have seemed to Maitimo a betrayal to Fëanor. 

He had never before thought of prayer as something intimate yet underneath the gaze of the Moringotto he found himself distinctly uncomfortable, embarrassed as he struggled to form the words, even in his mind. He attempts to focus on an image of Lord Manwë but his memory traps him at the last meeting with the King of the Valar; when he had told him of the slaying of his grandfather. Blood and darkness he had cried and when his father fell to the ground in his despair it felt as a wound from a blade...

Maitimo shivers, distinctly aware of his Enemy’s fingers trailing idly along his back as though counting the seconds until he completes the task. 

Lord Námo, please do not let my father know of where I am is what finally comes to him. 

Considering the circumstances, Maitimo felt he should have perhaps offered something more. An apology? An acknowledgment of how little right he had to ask anything of the Valar let alone by the Dark Lord’s orders? He wondered if his Enemy knew he had not prayed as instructed. Perhaps he would have seen it on His face should Maitimo have dared to look up to it. He does not. 

“Poor, forsaken king,” the taunt settled softly on Maitimo’s ears as one long finger traces over one. 

Tag list: @miriel-estelwen @mozart-the-meerkitten 

[outofangband]

I am posting something nice tomorrow so I wanted to show a small snippet of something not nice, it’s a little part of a longer piece if there’s interest in the whole thing 

Implied enforced nudity, some unreality, vague hints of lots of bad things

(Húrin in Angband, a little while before he’s taken to the Haudh-en-Nirnaeth)

Vague references to this fic though definitely doesn’t have to be read for this

“Valar,” he breathes once the paralysis lifts. The response is a sudden stinging as a lock of his hair is sharply pulled and a breath of cold laughter he feels more than hears against him

“Do not disappoint me, little warrior,” Morgoth croons, “Such a foolish word to repeat from thine elven masters. You of all should know the futility of such a plea here.” There is movement, a shifting that Húrin cannot fully process, “No matter. I will teach you that now.” The only cloth touching him now is from Morgoth’s own robes. Húrin becomes suddenly aware that he does not know exactly where he is and although he feels the presence of Morgoth around him, on him, he could not have said where either of them were positioned.

Claw like hands press upon his arms and he registers faintly that the pressure comes from above. Pain dazzles him from an uncertain source. The blinding light of the jewels Morgoth wears upon his crown seem only to magnify the darkness that is consuming him from above, below, inside out. 

Every bit of Húrin’s consciousness is screaming for it to stop, perhaps it is only his utter exhaustion that prevents the scream from physically leaving him as he lies motionless on the surface beneath him. He cannot remember nor feel what surface this was. His senses are a frenzy of contradictory stimulation.

Húrin remembers falling into a small river as a child. Icy water in his lungs, the tumble of mud and current and rock, thrown against the sandy bed until small stones embedded into his skin and he was finally pulled out by his terrified mother.

He remembers lying on the banks, gasping and shivering, even the brief tumble robbing him of all energy.

That’s the closest he can get to describing this but the river had no malice. The river did not seek to permeate beneath his skin, invade every cut and orifice and turn his body against him

Húrin doesn’t know exactly where Morgoth is. He is sure the Vala is touching him. He can feel it, feel points of contact in more places than should be possible.

“If you truly are so tired out by this you of course know what to say,” he hears Morgoth speak clearly even as he is sure the other’s mouth is latched onto his skin, almost vampiric.

He truly is so tired.

He says nothing.

[outofangband]

any Maedhros in Angband content for us? what's it been, a week or so/lh

a week sounds about right

and I took this as a chance to finish writing the most recent Maedhros in Angband fic in my drafts but let me know if you have more specific prompts/requests!

I also have a quite a bit more graphic one if anyone is interested 

masterlist 

“Drink, Nelyafinwë,” the Vala nodded in what might have been perceived as polite in other circumstances. His glittering eyes surveyed the wary elf who sat across from him at the large, smooth table. Maitimo’s fingers twitched but he did not reach out for the glass before him. The liquid in the glass was clear like water but it sparkled ominously and Maedhros knew he would feel no relief upon drinking it. Nearly half of an hour had passed since he had been brought to this room and ordered to sit, the glass in front of him yet still he did not know what game the Moringotto was playing at.

Maitimo had spent his time before this encounter locked into a small cage after he had particularly annoyed one of the balrog captains. His limbs ached and dried blood clung to the sides of his face from the muzzle that had been strapped onto him simply to add insult to injury. None of that compared to even the prescense of the Moringotto let alone the other horrors that He could inflict.

This would not be the first time he had been forced to consume various poisons, potions, and other substances that had wicked effects but it was the first time such a presentation was made with it. The Moringotto, Maitimo had long since learned, had a flair for the dramatic. He loved making even and especially the most simple things an ordeal and this seemed to be a perfect example.

Thinking uncomfortably of the riddles he used to like as a child, where a cautious traveler had to choose between three or more ominous beakers, one of which surely contained a terrible fate, Maitimo lowered his eyes and reached out hesitantly. He was unsure why exactly now but an uneasy feeling of submission came over him and he swallowed. Indeed, there was something like a smirk on the Vala’s face as though he was sure he had won this particular battle of wills. Maitimo’s hand shook and his fingers curled. Should he withdraw them?

The Vala set down another glass. This one smaller. The liquid was darker than anything Maitimo had ever seen, the same color as the obsidian throne.

“Drink, dear Maitimo. So we may begin.” The switch to his mother name was not a comforting sign.