#it's manwe/melkor in the sense that both characters are present and one is terrified

[gurguliare]

nyarnamaitar replied to your post “Send me a ship I’ve never written and I’ll either write a drabble or...”

Manwë/Melkor! Can’t wait for the drag, since I don’t think you’re gonna write my trash OTP. :’D (Love your blog btw. Been a quiet follower of yours for a while now.)

(Thank you! And you underestimate my fondness for bullshitting Ainur POVs, actually---)

Utumno had grown very dark; it must have, for his brother shone. Melkor raised his head to look more closely at the light. To his great amazement, it did not recede. He came at last from the line of a wingtip to his brother’s face, and saw Manwë stare back, likewise amazed. Manwë held his shield-hand to his brow---he had come helmed, and winged, girt to bear up under Melkor’s glance as under the blow from a sword. But he straightened and let fall the shield.

How changed was this enemy! Not greater, but great. Not fiercer, but here: he had sent the sea before him, and baleful stars, and Yavanna’s root-barbs, and the panting winds, and then after all he had come. That was his tread which cleared the frost from stone; that was his hand which leaned upon the staff; and he was little but a body and the force in that body, nothing but a power less than that in Melkor’s left hand---and Melkor felt his hand close, his heart melt, fear sweeping through the channel which was made in him for fear: it was the first time he had ever felt such a bitter, knowing terror, that brimmed up at the lip of him and yet promised to rise.

“---thou to grow less!” said Manwë, wondering. “Thou!”

But who heard him? For Melkor went seeking the strength of his arms, and the fire he had wielded, before sky’s stone was laid; and in all things he found that fire guttering, beset. Worse: it ate whatever it could. The fire he had thought his self---his power burned in it. Manwë crowed, and Melkor heard him---only Melkor, king under the earth.

He found his knees were weak. Shall I repent? he said to flesh, thinking to rouse it by his mockery. And he also thought, Shall I repent? As if holding the brand against his heart, as if driving his flesh down on a glede, he thought how he might put aside his crown, and be made whole. It must be swift---now---Now! He plucked away the brand: I will not. It is too hard a sacrifice, and may be saved a longer while. / Never mind, for it is too late. And straightaway his skin began to burn, released from heat.

Ashamed, stinging with grief, he hit upon a cunning thought, and would have laughed, had no one been at hand to overhear.

Then he knelt. His knees, striking the flags, rang out as hammers. Tulkas walked to stand beside Manwë, dragging the long chain; Melkor never turned to him. Manwë said, “Do you ask pardon?”, with eyes narrowed, mouth spreading wide---a hawk after the lure.