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Love turns a friendly card.
With a different story it'll open your heart.
Forever love is an endless game.
You don't have to worry 'cause it's easy to play. ~Peter Schilling, The Different Story
Just a note to remember, Muninn = Mairon.

Pt. 14
It was silent. There was not even the minutest of sounds in the black-as-pitch darkness that surrounded him. He tried to find a way out of the darkness – even just a shred of light to signal an escape – but was troubled to find there to be none. He may well have begun to give into the anxiety that was prickling up his spine from the foreign and confining blackness but a bewitching aria began to rise from the nothingness to break the silence, temporary scattering his dread and fear. It was too dark to see even his own hand before his face so he could not see from whom the song was originating but he could decipher the voice’s owner was most assuredly male, their smoky tone low and deep.
The song was not of the likes he knew or had ever heard before. He knew only the silvery and holy sound that was inherent to the Ainur but this… this seemed the antithesis of that. It was completely removed from the pure fount of their maker and was murky with darkness and pretension enough it felt as if he were being slapped in the face by it. There was a subtle severity that underscored the dark wordless lyrics that all of demanded to be revered and he wanted to balk at it. Ignore it. Forget it. But there was something about the song and unknown voice that had him falling into it, welcoming it, accepting it without consideration. There was a queer sound of love and voracity in the canticle, the former moreso than the latter, which did not seem to fit with the dark melody it was wreathed into. Odder still, it almost seemed – no, he was sure - the ill-fit chords were intended for him alone which he could not even begin to understand why...
Whatever it was about the dark born theme it shook him to his core, leaving his legs weak and incapable of holding his weight any longer. Falling to his knees, he felt as if his skin were being peeled away to expose all his vulnerabilities and emotions, the song awakening latent needs in him he’d never before entertained the thought of. It led him to a fervor that left him little more than a quivering mess of want, need, and desire which clawed desperately into the darkness to find the source, willing to do anything – anything – to have the man responsible for the dark aria before him so he could pay his respects. Pay them in so many ways and in ways he would not have considered before hearing this alluring sound.
Just before he could lose himself completely to the dark lullaby it dropped away and was replaced by a plethora of differentiating screams of pain and fear and cries of anger that rose and fell in sync with the tell-tale sounds of harsh battle and bloody war. Any of the previous feelings brought about by the song were diminished as the darkness was rent by fire, the pungent stench of death and blood assaulting his senses so strongly he felt nauseous. Covering his nose and mouth to try and block out the horrid smell with one hand, he brought the other up to shield his eyes from the scorching flames that danced and licked at his bare feet. He started to fall back into the darkness behind him to escape the self contained fire but he paused when the flames separated enough to reveal an unfamiliar landscape within the widespread blaze. In the muddied valley that bore the destructive remnants of scorched earth and battle now done, he could just barely see two shadowy figures - one towheaded with a scatter of braided knots at the tips of his hair and the other bearing a crown of iron inset with a trio of glinting gems - standing amidst a staggering amount of dead and dying. Though he had not seen what come before this scene he knew whatever it was it had been caused by these two men, the blood of too many innocents staining their hands, clothes, and armor. Their faces were obscured from his sights by oddly falling shadows that almost seemed too deliberate to be mere normal shadows and yet he knew the expressions that were behind the shadows were euphoric. Giddy even at the destruction that they had wrought.
There was no sound to accompany the strange vision but still he could see the smaller of the duo laugh and point to a crippled man that was trying to crawl away from them. He winced seeing the way one of the elf’s arms was bent at a severe angle and dragging uselessly at the side as he tried using the one good arm to try and save himself but he knew, just as the elf must have, that he had no chance. The taller and more imposing of the duo seized the struggling elf and found a sizable rock nearby, forcing the man’s mouth and teeth down over the rock’s edge. Before the elf could move out of the foreboding position the man’s booted foot pressed down on the elf’s head to keep him from moving, experimentally putting pressure on the man’s skull and then releasing it for several agonizing moments in a form of mental torture to the poor crying soul beneath him.
He already knew what was coming and he did not wish to see it anymore than he wished for the unlucky elf to suffer it. Noticing the dark haired man suddenly lift his foot he quickly averted his eyes just as it crushed down upon the elf’s head, shattering teeth and ripping apart jawbones in what was an overly cruel and painful death. Glancing back, he saw the towheaded man slide up to the other and pull him down for a venerating kiss that was returned with a blood-lust fueled ardor, bloodied and scarred hands twisting into blond hair to stain it red as he pulled his slighter companion closer. The disturbing scene of twisted love and callous murder was blocked out by a surge in the flames, the fire closing in to bring the vision to an end.
He was still trying to process what he had just witnessed when the flames began to spit and hiss violently, a ravenous ice ripping up through the flames to ravenously engulf the heat. The battle of fire and ice ended quickly, the flames volatile hissing silenced as the last of its molten bulk froze into a solid wall of glittering blue and purple. Deep fractures immediately split the ice, thousands of hairline cracks spidering out to mar the twisted ice formation until it finally simply exploded with a deafening boom. Shutting his eyes and crouching low to protect himself from the razor shards and blinding crystalline dust, he remained hunkered down in that fashion until he became aware of a change in the atmosphere. No longer was it so silent and the air had taken on a frigid chill. Blinking his eyes open at the sound of screaming winds he was surprised to discover the darkness had been replaced and he was not atop a large overhanging balcony of an arctic fortress. Just at a glance he could tell the structure had been frozen over with creeping ice and black frost from eons of suffering raging snow and ice storms.
The niggling anxiety from before returned with a vengeance to weigh on his thoughts as he looked around his strange surroundings, trying to understand what was happening or how he arrived at this strange citadel to begin with. Noting the eerie black mountains that surrounded and stretched out as far as he could see through the falling snow, he shakily got to his feet and pulled the hem of his free flowing nightrobe closer to his shivering body in an attempt to cut out the wind. It was useless however since the thin material offered no real defense against the cutting winds or freezing snow that blew against him. He was in the midst of trying to decide if he should venture beyond the black patterned drapery that separated the balcony from the inside of the tower but someone else made the decision for him. He startled when a hand settled at the center of his back and ushered him forward and through the drapes. He attempted to turn and see who it was but the insistent hand making him walk forward kept him from looking, guiding him to stand before the rostrum of a shadow covered throne. The throne itself was hidden from his sight by an icy ring of jagged growths that he could only assume had formed over a lengthy span of time from the outside elements blowing into the tower through the opening that led to the balcony.
The rustling of material and clinking of beads caught his attention and he looked up to see a cracked face – no a mask – settled within an intricately, if not near impossibly, draped hood. The person? Being? Creature? He did not know what to call it but it stared down at him with one still visible eye where the other was utterly destroyed from a deep fracture that obliterated most of the left side of its face, dipping down to the eerie smile of the mask. He gasped and stepped away from the thing as it lifted one flame tipped hand and gesture toward the throne in such a fashion it was as if it were presenting it to him.
Turning his attention back to the black stone throne he noted that what could be seen between the ice mounds had as much ice and frost running along its carved surface as the citadel’s exterior. Moving a little closer and to the side to look between the ice spires he come to realize that the throne was not as vacant as he had assumed. Looking back over his shoulder to try and gain some understanding of what he was seeing from the strange being, he was met with only an empty room. It was gone. He would get no help there. Turning back to the throne he cautiously approached and peeked through the ice to find a man bound to the throne with gore slick tendons, one serpent slung along his shoulders and biting its own tail and another suspended over the man’s face that was held in place by a statue’s hand. He was mildly startled when the statue turned its head to look at him, its blank eyes all of warning him to keep back and away from its prisoner.
Strange… Who was this man that he had been led to and why was he bound? There must have been reason for it. He could not see his face from the base of the throne’s podium and the statue holding the man’s face up only helped obscure his identity further. Perhaps it would be for the best if he did not know though… there was something very dark about this man. An aura of ill intent and destructive nature all of radiated off of him which made him want to cower in its wake. Truly, whoever this man was it was likely in everyone’s best interest that he was kept ensnared to this throne. If he could so palpably feel the anger of this person he dared not consider what would happen should he break free.
He had no issue heeding the silent warning of the guardian that was helping to hold this man in place. He would keep his distance. It would be a better idea to try and find a way to leave this forsaken place anyways. He needed to get back to the world he knew and leave this foreign citadel and its master behind. Decided, he turned and started to slink carefully toward where he though the throne room’s exit lay but gasped and wobbled dangerously on unsteady feet when the fortress around him shuddered violently. Thousands if not more voices bellowed up from deep in the heart of the citadel, the screams and cries of beasts and demons echoing and bouncing through the stone corridors and stairwells as if they were proudly announcing an important and long awaited event. Dread had already began to squeeze his heart with its cold hand when he slowly turned back to look at the throne, seeing quite clearly the bloody bindings that held the man shrivel and dry up. He made a sound of surprised horror when the man flexed and yanked harsh enough to snap and tear them away to rid himself of the confining binds. The serpent round the man’s neck released its tail when its master began to move and reared back with an angry roar, the sound coming out too similar to the howls of the hounds of war to not frighten him.

‘So it begins…’
Looking around he tried to find the source of the disembodied voice but he stopped when the ice ring around the throne shattered, falling back onto the ground with a yelp when a jagged shard of ice embedded into his thigh. Dread gave way to intense fear as he yanked the shard out and scrambled back across the slick floor on hands that kept slipping on small patches of ice. An angry and near animalistic scream fueled him to pick up his pace, working to put as much distance between himself and the mysterious but obviously dangerous man. His escape was thwarted when one of his hands found an icy patch on the stone floor, the hand slipping from beneath him and causing him to fall back onto the cold floor with a pained wheeze. He scrambled to get back up, chancing a glance at the man to find him crushing the statue’s head with such a roar of anger it made him freeze. He was still unable to move when the man turned around, his face completely hidden behind a wall of long dark hair. Despite the obscuring hair and shadows that fell across the man he could still see a cold wrath burning in the gilded eyes that promised nothing but death, destruction and an end to everything and everyone he knew. Visions of all that and more flashed before his eyes before ending in the world crumbling into nothingness at this man’s hands and he found he was unable to contain his scream of horror and denial at what was presented as the true end. Of everything.

“MUNINN!?”

Muninn snapped out of the nightmare mid-scream at the forceful sound of his name being called into his face, sitting up out of the tangle of covers and nearly smashing into Yavanna as he did. The nightmare was already fading from cognitive memory, leaving a bitter and dismal feeling in its wake as the lady of the green earth tried to ease him out of his tearful frenzy. Her gentle hands moved through his tangled hair to tame it and then up and down his arms to try and calm his erratic breathing and violently pounding heart. Eventually he settled down enough to notice he had awakened several of the other Maiar in the communal sleeping quarters, some staring with curious if not concerned sleep blurred eyes while others looked far less than thrilled at the rude awakening. Muninn immediately felt a rush of guilt at disturbing everyone with yet another night-terror, his face reddening a bit to reflect his embarrassment.
Yavanna seemed to notice his ill-at-ease at bothering the others and leaned close so that only he could hear her, her low toned voice whispering quietly into his ear. “The dreams again?” He nodded slowly, burying his face in his hands as he tried to will the disjointed dream away, missing how Yavanna’s lips pulled into a deeply concerned frown as she sat back. “Come with me.” She whispered as she coaxed him up from the sweat soaked sheets of the bed, giving a chiding look to a few of the other Maiar that were leaned forward and showing how overly curious they were of Muninn’s private affairs. The nosey men and women flinched when they were caught and fell back into their beds and tried to play it off as if that they had not just been doing what they had been caught doing as the lady of the house bid them all return to sleep. The still sleep-disoriented Muninn whispered a quiet apology to the rest of the awakened Maiar as Yavanna ushered him away from the common house and through the connecting rotunda that led to the heart of her rustic home and further still to her own personal quarters. Once within her secluded room away from any prying eyes or ears, Yavanna latched the door behind them.
“This is the fifth time this week alone you have suffered because of dreams…” Yavanna sighed, guiding Muninn toward the open window that held the sole burning candle in the room before breaking away and coming to stand before him with her delicate hands clasped in front of her waist. Her eyebrows bowed with worry, her lip dipping at one side. “Dear one, I know you do not like to bother Nessa or myself with anything that ails you but I think now is a good time to start. You are not a part of my house simply to serve me or tend my gardens. You are my responsibility and it is my duty to care for you and ensure your wellbeing.” Yavanna tilted her head, her long braid shifting with the movement. “Do not be afraid to talk with me. My ears are always open and willing to listen when you need to unburden yourself, Muninn. Now tell me, what is wrong?”
Muninn sighed heavily, lifting one hand from beneath the vine embroidered nightrobe to rub harshly at his face and tear matted eyelashes. So like Yavanna to always offer her help when she knew he would not seek her out for it. Truly, Muninn believe he was part of the houses of the two kindest of the Valar in all of Aman. How he wound up with such luck he could never know since luck was not exactly his strongest suite by any means. “I have been having this dream for a very long time, my lady. It is not out of the ordinary and I did not feel it was necessary to both-“ He cut off when Yavanna leveled a look at him that all of said ‘what did I just tell you about “bothering” me?’ Sighing again he let his hand drop, his mind finally waking up enough to remind him it was not proper indicate to stand so loosely in front of the lady of the house when addressing her. Clasping his hands neatly beneath the folds of his long flowing robe, he cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to stare at the skirting of Yavanna’s regal gown. “It simply did not seem pressing enough to mention.”
“When your dreams constantly leave you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, loud enough to wake up the entire house, I dare say it has becoming “pressing”, dear one.” Yavanna chided mildly, nodding her head toward where the forges of Aulë lay. “I would not be surprised if they heard you all the way at the housing of my husband.” Muninn’s eyes widened as his cheeks flared a deep shade of red before he lowered his head in a continuation of his earlier embarrassment from simply awaking the other Maiar of Yavanna. “I am sorry, my lady. I had intended already to leave out for Oromë’s woods within a few days time to keep from disrupting you or the others. Perhaps I should simply leave out in the morning instead if you will allow it.”
Yavanna chuckled, turning to stare out the window toward the expansive forest that lay to the west of her pastures and gardens. “I know you have learned from Nessa the art of nomadic living but wouldn’t you only awaken all those that call his woods home?” Muninn groaned at Yavanna’s well placed if not dry jab, realizing he should have known better than to tell her his intentions and not expect her to give her accurate input. “I may not know those woods as well as their master but Nessa has shown me quite a few secluded areas in her brother’s wood that are hardly traveled by either us or beasts.” He paused before adding, “…Maybe the change in scenery will ease my mind from the visions I see.”
Yavanna looked over her shoulder at Muninn, her eyebrows pinching down at the vague reference to “visions”. “What is it that you dream about, dear one? You have skirted the issue long enough. Tell me.”
Muninn chewed lightly on his bottom lip, turning away from Yavanna and the flickering candle that offered a splash of dim light to the room around them. He considered how to explain, finding it very hard when in truth he could hardly remember the dream but only mere pieces of it. However what he did remember was beyond disturbing and dismaying to think about. “I don’t remember the dream so well and can’t really recall all that happens. But what I am certain of is that it has always been the same one and, up until now, never changed.”
“A recurring dream?” Yavanna asked as she brought her hands up to hold in front of her midsection. She stared into the flickering orange flame of the candle, watching the beads of animal fat drip down onto the intricate candleholder at its base. “How long have you been having this one dream?”
“I-I don’t know.” Muninn admitted, lifting his hands out to the side to add emphasis to his statement, not really remembering when they began at all and yet not remembering a time when he wasn’t visited by the strange phantasm. “Long enough I no longer know when it began. But it used to be infrequent, occurring only rarely and easy to ignore. It is only recently that it has become a nightly occurrence. It is so strange, my lady. Though I can’t remember the exact details of the dream I always remember the black throne and the man that is bound within it.”
Turned away from her, Muninn could not see the shock that widened Yavanna’s eyes but she quickly concealed her unease and surprise when the Maia turned to look at her over his shoulder. “I can never see his face but I know he is bound for reason. Good reason. I’ve never felt so much pure hate from any living being I have ever met in all my life. I dare say I never thought it possible.”
Yavanna snorted, crossing her arms across her breast as she wryly muttered in a fashion not entirely characteristic of her. “Thankfully you have never had to suffer the hate of Melkor as we have since you came to us. We have been blessed by his absence for the last handful of ages and I hope it lasts for several more.”
Muninn’s ears perked at the mention of Melkor, a name he’d heard sparingly by the others. Or at least when he was around. He was near certain it was intentional on the collective whole of the Valar and Maiar to keep that name from his ears as often as possible. Perhaps he should find it suspicious but he could not fathom why it would be. He had long accepted he was being sheltered from anything and everything that had to do with the rogue Valar because he was the last to descend to Arda, therein he was the sole person to never know him or his dark and chaotic influence. He had at least been taught of his crimes against the world but even his knowledge on that was pretty base and not in depth. More than anything he just knew Melkor’s name was synonymous with dark intent, honeyed words when he wanted something, and cruelty and Muninn was more than happy to never have known the man personally.
But still, good intentions or not, he did find their need to protect him from the name was smothering to a point of near ridiculousness. The only other person he knew less about was Aulë’s Maia, Mairon, who was well and truly just as vile as Melkor himself. Should the unlikely day come that he were to meet Melkor he would never know it. Hard to know a man when one did not even know a hint of what he looked like or the type of appearance he was prone to choose. The term “dark” only helps so much on that point… and yet he had to wonder now. Had it been Melkor in his dream? Had it been their great enemy that he kept dreaming of bound to his dark throne? It would make sense on one hand… yet completely perplexing on the other. Why would he, of anyone, dream about a man he did not know?
“Do you think it is Melkor that I have dreamt about, my lady?” Muninn asked, turning around fully to face Yavanna as he waited for her to answer. The woman seemed to consider his question deeply for several moments, weighing her answer carefully before she turned to look at him with dark troubled eyes. “I don’t know for sure, Muninn. Perhaps you are or maybe your mind is simply conjuring an image of him because you fear the pain and suffering he will bring upon us all should he escape his imprisonment Eru himself bestowed upon him.”
Muninn’s face paled considerably, his eyebrows curving severely to reflect the intense fear that had gripped him when he’d first been awakened by Yavanna’s voice in the common house. “I mentioned the dream was different this time didn’t I, my lady? Up until tonight I only ever dreamt of seeing the man bound to the throne with one serpent round his neck and another held above him and feeling terrified of what he stands for. It always ended there before but this time…” Muninn swallowed thickly, a hand lifting to tug anxiously at one of the leather bound twists of hair at the side of his face. “…he broke free and that horrid serpent all of trumpeted the beginning of the end. I know that is what it meant. Not just for Middle-Earth but the end of the world. I knew it. I saw it!”
Already knowing he was about to work himself into a frenzy from the sinister overtone of his dream, Yavanna stepped over and wrapped her arms around the nearly hyperventilating man, bringing him close to offer him the comfort he desperately needed at that moment. She was careful to keep her own trepidations of what the dream was implying hidden beneath a fearless and maternal mask, not wanting to let Muninn know or it would only upset him more than he was. Her role was to comfort when it was needed and to seek out either her husband’s ear or Manwë’s guidance when she needed it herself, which she knew would be in the near future. A meeting with their lord to discuss Muninn and especially his dream was long overdue. “Calm yourself, dear one.” She soothed in a gentle voice, “It was only a dream and dreams are only phantasms that cannot hurt us.”
Muninn shook his head against Yavanna’s chest, not entirely ready to believe her when he could still remember the hazy image of the sun’s vessel crashing into the mountains that surrounded Aman or hearing Arien’s cries in her death throes. “How do you know? Maybe it is no dream but a vision I have been cursed with. Would it not make sense if it was Melkor I have been seeing? Wouldn’t it make sense that I saw him breaking from Eru’s imprisonment only to see visions of our world’s destruction? Was that not prophesized by Námo himself?”
Yavanna shushed Muninn, rubbing a hand down his head in slow deliberate fashion to calm him. “What if you are dreaming of Melkor breaking free? What can you do about it? If he is to break free and destroy us all then it is simply meant to be. Nothing lasts forever, not even immortality is a promise of unending life. Just remember that an end is not necessarily for the worse, dear one. No matter how despairing the thought of death may be it should be remembered that where something ends there is still the promise of a new beginning.” The woman pressed an affectionate kiss to the man’s temple, “Trust that Eru would not let this world end without the promise of a new and greater song to be sung. I know in my heart and soul that this is how it will be. Now please stop worrying about the things you have seen under the sway of sleep.” Pulling back she gave the Maia a once over, noting the strain of fatigue that was still visible in his dull green eyes from too many nights of his sleep being cut short by the terror brought on by his dream. Knowing sunrise was still some time away she led Muninn to her bed, “You are exhausted, Muninn. Do not worry about returning to the sleeping quarters to sleep. Maybe my bed can offer you some respite from your dreams.”
Muninn pulled away from Yavanna and smiled a small thankful smile but shook his head at her generous offer, not wanting to inconvenience her in the least. “No. I could not. This is your bed, not mine, so I would feel only guilt to take it from you. I do not mind returning to the common house to sleep and I’m sure you would like to sleep yourself.” Yavanna tsk’d Muninn, waving a finger in his face “Dear one, if you are to learn any lesson from me then please learn the lesson of accepting what is offered to you freely.” The woman smiled widely, gesturing toward her bed, “What is mine is yours. It is a rule of life I have lived by for many moons and I have offered it to many. There is nothing wrong with being willing to share so long as it is not abused and thus far none have abused my generosity and I know you will not either. I sleep little these days and will not need my bed in the time you are using it.”
Laughing lightly at Yavanna’s insistence he use her bed, Muninn lifted his arms in mock defeat which caused the woman to smile wider in some form of victory as she pulled back the beautiful comforter and sheets. “Very well, my lady. If it would wound your heart should I refuse your bed then I shall sleep here.” He jested mildly, rubbing a hand along one of the bed’s ornate post that was carved in the shape of a winding tree.
“My heart would be wounded so deeply I fear I would wither away, dear one.” Yavanna quipped back as she brought one hand up to place over her heart to carry on the small jest, the dry humor thick in her words so that Muninn had to laugh. “I can tell.” He chuckled, sliding into the bed and allowing Yavanna to pull the covers over him. She sat down beside him once she was finished and Muninn let his eyes flutter shut, knowing the woman would likely stay there the rest of the night. Her protective nature was about as inherent to her as it was to Nessa when they were around him and he was honestly glad to have it. To know someone cared enough to simply sit with him through the night after his trying nightmare - or vision? - it meant a lot. Speaking of Nessa... she had been absent for longer than he had anticipated when she’d left with her brother. “Have you received any word when Nessa and Oromë will return from Middle-Earth?” He asked Yavanna not bothering to open his eyes.
“According to Oromë’s last message he mentioned they should be expected back soon. Hopefully that means very soon.” Yavanna shook her head, her heart falling at the thought of what was left of the once green and beautiful world of Middle-Earth, now all of destroyed by Melkor’s ilk. She had been against both of them going there from the beginning, especially Nessa. Melkor may have been contained but his creations and servants were not. That was enough reason to worry for both the Valar. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Muninn. Take heart knowing that not sleep.”
Muninn smiled when the woman’s hand found his head and began to stroke and untangle his hair, her heavenly contralto voice starting into a quiet song that was very quickly leading him back to sleep. He hmm’d to himself as he nestled into the sheets, nearly falling asleep but a stray thought struck him about his dream that he’d forgotten to mention earlier. The only other thing he could ever remember clearly from it.
“I hear a song in my dream too.” Muninn yawned, blinking his sleep blurring eyes up at Yavanna. “It’s nothing like anything you or any of us Ainur are privy to.” He squinted one eye as he tried to remember the sound of the melody from his dream so he knew how to describe it to Yavanna. “It’s… like… a dark lullaby? I wish I could remember it clearly… but I know he is singing to me. For me. Strange, no?” If Muninn noticed the way Yavanna’s hand froze in his hair he didn’t show it, instead burrowing deeper into the covers. “Whoever ‘he’ is…” he murmured as an after-thought before slipping back to sleep.
Melkor’s dug his nails into the stone arms of his throne as he glared up at yet another building drip of venom, already challenging it to fall. How long had he been held here? How many millennia had passed this time? How many more would before he was able to free himself? He’d heard the phrase “time heals all wounds” drop from the lips of many before and could he find the person responsible for coining it, he would rip their tongue from their head. Even though he couldn’t put a number to the amount of time that had passed since he’d been set and bound into his throne in subtle form of mockery of how he viewed himself, he was still hurting. Not simply from the suffocating weight that shoved him down uncomfortably, its weight pressing down upon his chest so that it was near impossible to fill his lungs with air. Or the pain inflicted upon him from the venom that ceaselessly dripped down to scald his face to such a degree it felt as if he had no face left to scald. Or even from the unyielding pain the Secret Fire elicited from its refusal to separate from his naked spirit, the fire burning and scorching him with pain a hundred-fold worse than that of the Silmaril’s burning his hands when he had taken them so long ago it felt like another life altogether.
None of that touched upon the raw wound in his heart which had only widened as time wore on until it was just flayed open completely and exposed to the gnats of anguish and flies of desolation to feast upon. All because he had failed to realize – or rather did not want to realize - just how much one devout little Maia had meant to him. He was no longer afraid to admit how wrong he was to refuse him. How simple and shortsighted he had been just to spare his own sense of pride at the expense of the one person that truly did revere him from the moment he’d convinced him to abandon the foolish teachings of the other Ainur and even up until the end when he’d done everything in his power to repel him. His anger, that had built during the lifetimes of wandering the madness of the Void, had convinced him Mairon was to blame even when knew it was a false claim.
But Mairon was gone. Dead in body in spirit and all he had left were the vivid memories of the Maia’s well deserved sadness that blanketed him whenever he was near or the man’s crying naked soul struggling and reaching desperately for him before Eru snuffed him out like he was nothing more than a candle that had been allowed to burn for too long.
Melkor’s anger swelled at the memory, teeth clenched tight as the venom broke free from Enyalië’s mouth and splashed onto his face, eliciting a howl from him that was a mix of pain and pent up anger that he was desperate to direct at someone. Anyone. Anyone but Mairon, even if that was beyond impossible to do or not do as it were. Even though he had a turn of heart on admitting to himself that he had cared – loved – Mairon nothing else had changed. He was no changed man in any other respect and when he was finally released from this hell Eru had left him in he would finish what his servants had been doing for him in his place since he’d been bound. They had been eating away at Middle-Earth, ruining it from the inside out and eradicating whatever inferior creatures they were able to get their hands upon. Though he could not see their progress he knew he would be pleased by the wasteland outside his mountainous stronghold which suited him just fine. Neither this continent nor the elves he despised or the men or dwarves he decided he despised just as much interested him. Not nearly as much as they once did. Their eradication would only come second, first he had every intention of paying a visit to Aman and seeing just how well his kin had flourished since he’d been neatly taken out of their lives.
Then he’d raze the entirety of Valinor to the ground.
He’d decide what he would do with the Ainur when he got there. He wasn’t entirely sure yet. Perhaps he’d take some as prisoners to have as something to enjoy torturing at his leisure but most would just perish. All the other simple minded Valar he would kill in the slowest most painful of ways he could come up with, ensuring he killed them just as finitely as he had that infuriating Tulkas. Such a strange twist…who knew the Secret Fire was not only capable of breathing life into beings but snatching it away too? Truly, Eru was a damned fool if he had allowed him to find the flame if he knew of that ability. It was almost as if the creator of all wanted Melkor to destroy all he had created and even Melkor had to admit he had seriously begun to question this. He’d had a very long time to consider it… the thought that he might be playing into some higher pre-ordained plan of Eru’s made his skin crawl to consider but it was easily ignored. For the time at least. No matter how much it would infuriate him to know Eru was playing the puppet master to his puppet he would not let it stem his desire to see the world crushed beneath his foot. Then he could form it into what he wanted, not what Eru desired. Anything he created would be so much better. Maybe Eru would eventually see this. Or maybe he wouldn’t.
All in time… right now all he really desired was to hear the singular melody that could only be pulled from the mouth of one of the Ainur as they die. It had been a wonderful sound to his ears when it came from Tulkas and he wondered how the others might sound in their death throes. Pity none other than himself could appreciate the beauty of death and calamitous chaos. He wasn’t even sure if Mairon had been able to… motive and control drove the Maia, not blood thirst and a desire to destroy.
Melkor’s thoughts scattered as the statue above him shifted, his ears twitching when he heard the far away wails of his servants calling for him. He was caught off guard when the stone hand on his throat cracked open to release him, so much so he very nearly did not twist his face out of the way of the final drop of venom that fell from Enyalië’s fang. Twisting his neck around to ease the painful tension the long held forced position had caused he sighed in small pleasure as the vertebra snapped and popped to relieve the uncomfortable pressure. He grinned to himself as Sanwë hissed deep in its throat as the enchantment that kept the serpent from releasing its tail shattered, allowing the beast to yank back from its tail and roar so load it seemed to shake the citadel’s foundation.
So…. It seemed he would be granted his freedom much sooner than he had expected.
The entrails that held him still looked as fresh as they had when Eru ripped them from the beast that could have been considered his child eons ago. Apparently they had remained this way for the entirety of his entrapment but this was already changing, the vivid and lively red dulling and turning black as the tendons and meat shriveled. Yanking hard at the binds, they snapped with ease and fell away to grant him the finality of his freedom of which Melkor eagerly accepted. Rising from the throne slowly he turned to look at the statue that had served as his guard, the female carving shifting slightly but otherwise not moving. Her part had been played and the life Eru had granted to her was already beginning to ebb away to leave her the soulless statue she once was.
Melkor was quick to first pluck Mairon’s ring from Enyalië’s mouth before seizing and breaking the hand that held the serpent, allowing the beast to sway its long body down to the throne to repeatedly open and close its stiff mouth. Finished, he grabbed hold of the statue’s face and slowly started to apply pressure against the cold stone so that it began to crack and cave in slowly. If Eru had been so kind to give this statue life then he would take it upon himself to grant it death as well before it lost its sentience. The statue struggled and tried to push Melkor back with its one unbroken hand as it suffered the reversal in their roles. Snarling loudly, having hardly forgotten his long built up wrath; he took hold of the statue’s head and broke it away from the body, smashing the face in his hands. He fluttered his eyes against the cloud of dust, dropping the shattered remains of the statue’s face to the ground as he picked up Enyalië and descended the stairs to the ground level. The buildup of snow and ice that had formed at the foot of the steps was obliterated with a flick of his wrist, not ceasing walking until he pushed past the drapery to stand out on the balcony.
How pleasing it was to finally have the ability to move freely and see something other than the roof of the tower. Placing the onyx ring between his teeth to hold momentarily he took hold of both his serpents, running a hand down along the underbelly of both before he crushed them together. The serpents hissed and growled as their bodies began to melt and fuse together in grisly fashion, both roaring in unison as they were tossed over side of the balcony. Melkor stepped back several paces as he waited, removing the ring from his mouth to hold tightly in his hand. He smiled widely when a behemoth claw shot up from over side the balcony, black nails breaking and digging into the stone as another claw joined it to pull a two headed dragon up onto the balcony. The heads snapped and hissed at one another as Melkor approached the new form of his serpents, both immediately dropping their heads to rub against him with a sound that was not too terribly unlike a cat’s purr.
“This should suite you both well enough…” Melkor murmured, rubbing one hand down the length of Enyalië’s face before shoving it away. “Go to Aman and be my eyes and ears. Get close enough to observe but do not attack until I am ready.” He commanded the beast, throwing one hand in the direction where the hidden continent lay to emphasis his decree. “You will not have to wait long for me to follow...” Accepting the orders and wasting no time, the dragon immediately turned and threw itself out into the blizzard, flapping its expansive webbed wings to propel it through the harsh winds.
Staring after the diminishing form of Sanwë and Enyalië, Melkor ran one hand through his tangled hair that was as long as it was before his imprisonment, pulling the obscenely long mahogany strands through his fingers and around to his face to stare at it. He briefly considered cutting it off to his neck again but opted against it. That whim of the past had long left him and was replaced with the stray if not overly sentimental memory of Mairon taking entirely too much pleasure in running his fingers through the long strands.
Turning his attention down to his hand, he turned it palm up and cracked his fist open to look at Mairon’s ring, rolling it up into his fingers as he brought the small trinket up to eyelevel. Sighing he took the small thing and slid it onto his pinky finger, the ring just barely fitting. The sentimental moment ended quickly, Melkor returning to the familiar wrath he was itching to let loose on his kin.
It was time for a long overdue family reunion.

---
Ultimately this is some sort of AU angbang art/story series called 'The Different Story' that follows a silly story idea I've had mulling around in my head for a while. Previous picture in the series here:

___

Tumblr: lae-rae.tumblr.com/

Yavanna, Mairon (c) Tolkien
Design (c) me

Description

Love turns a friendly card.
With a different story it'll open your heart.
Forever love is an endless game.
You don't have to worry 'cause it's easy to play. ~Peter Schilling, The Different Story
Just a note to remember, Muninn = Mairon.

Pt. 14
It was silent. There was not even the minutest of sounds in the black-as-pitch darkness that surrounded him. He tried to find a way out of the darkness – even just a shred of light to signal an escape – but was troubled to find there to be none. He may well have begun to give into the anxiety that was prickling up his spine from the foreign and confining blackness but a bewitching aria began to rise from the nothingness to break the silence, temporary scattering his dread and fear. It was too dark to see even his own hand before his face so he could not see from whom the song was originating but he could decipher the voice’s owner was most assuredly male, their smoky tone low and deep.
The song was not of the likes he knew or had ever heard before. He knew only the silvery and holy sound that was inherent to the Ainur but this… this seemed the antithesis of that. It was completely removed from the pure fount of their maker and was murky with darkness and pretension enough it felt as if he were being slapped in the face by it. There was a subtle severity that underscored the dark wordless lyrics that all of demanded to be revered and he wanted to balk at it. Ignore it. Forget it. But there was something about the song and unknown voice that had him falling into it, welcoming it, accepting it without consideration. There was a queer sound of love and voracity in the canticle, the former moreso than the latter, which did not seem to fit with the dark melody it was wreathed into. Odder still, it almost seemed – no, he was sure - the ill-fit chords were intended for him alone which he could not even begin to understand why...
Whatever it was about the dark born theme it shook him to his core, leaving his legs weak and incapable of holding his weight any longer. Falling to his knees, he felt as if his skin were being peeled away to expose all his vulnerabilities and emotions, the song awakening latent needs in him he’d never before entertained the thought of. It led him to a fervor that left him little more than a quivering mess of want, need, and desire which clawed desperately into the darkness to find the source, willing to do anything – anything – to have the man responsible for the dark aria before him so he could pay his respects. Pay them in so many ways and in ways he would not have considered before hearing this alluring sound.
Just before he could lose himself completely to the dark lullaby it dropped away and was replaced by a plethora of differentiating screams of pain and fear and cries of anger that rose and fell in sync with the tell-tale sounds of harsh battle and bloody war. Any of the previous feelings brought about by the song were diminished as the darkness was rent by fire, the pungent stench of death and blood assaulting his senses so strongly he felt nauseous. Covering his nose and mouth to try and block out the horrid smell with one hand, he brought the other up to shield his eyes from the scorching flames that danced and licked at his bare feet. He started to fall back into the darkness behind him to escape the self contained fire but he paused when the flames separated enough to reveal an unfamiliar landscape within the widespread blaze. In the muddied valley that bore the destructive remnants of scorched earth and battle now done, he could just barely see two shadowy figures - one towheaded with a scatter of braided knots at the tips of his hair and the other bearing a crown of iron inset with a trio of glinting gems - standing amidst a staggering amount of dead and dying. Though he had not seen what come before this scene he knew whatever it was it had been caused by these two men, the blood of too many innocents staining their hands, clothes, and armor. Their faces were obscured from his sights by oddly falling shadows that almost seemed too deliberate to be mere normal shadows and yet he knew the expressions that were behind the shadows were euphoric. Giddy even at the destruction that they had wrought.
There was no sound to accompany the strange vision but still he could see the smaller of the duo laugh and point to a crippled man that was trying to crawl away from them. He winced seeing the way one of the elf’s arms was bent at a severe angle and dragging uselessly at the side as he tried using the one good arm to try and save himself but he knew, just as the elf must have, that he had no chance. The taller and more imposing of the duo seized the struggling elf and found a sizable rock nearby, forcing the man’s mouth and teeth down over the rock’s edge. Before the elf could move out of the foreboding position the man’s booted foot pressed down on the elf’s head to keep him from moving, experimentally putting pressure on the man’s skull and then releasing it for several agonizing moments in a form of mental torture to the poor crying soul beneath him.
He already knew what was coming and he did not wish to see it anymore than he wished for the unlucky elf to suffer it. Noticing the dark haired man suddenly lift his foot he quickly averted his eyes just as it crushed down upon the elf’s head, shattering teeth and ripping apart jawbones in what was an overly cruel and painful death. Glancing back, he saw the towheaded man slide up to the other and pull him down for a venerating kiss that was returned with a blood-lust fueled ardor, bloodied and scarred hands twisting into blond hair to stain it red as he pulled his slighter companion closer. The disturbing scene of twisted love and callous murder was blocked out by a surge in the flames, the fire closing in to bring the vision to an end.
He was still trying to process what he had just witnessed when the flames began to spit and hiss violently, a ravenous ice ripping up through the flames to ravenously engulf the heat. The battle of fire and ice ended quickly, the flames volatile hissing silenced as the last of its molten bulk froze into a solid wall of glittering blue and purple. Deep fractures immediately split the ice, thousands of hairline cracks spidering out to mar the twisted ice formation until it finally simply exploded with a deafening boom. Shutting his eyes and crouching low to protect himself from the razor shards and blinding crystalline dust, he remained hunkered down in that fashion until he became aware of a change in the atmosphere. No longer was it so silent and the air had taken on a frigid chill. Blinking his eyes open at the sound of screaming winds he was surprised to discover the darkness had been replaced and he was not atop a large overhanging balcony of an arctic fortress. Just at a glance he could tell the structure had been frozen over with creeping ice and black frost from eons of suffering raging snow and ice storms.
The niggling anxiety from before returned with a vengeance to weigh on his thoughts as he looked around his strange surroundings, trying to understand what was happening or how he arrived at this strange citadel to begin with. Noting the eerie black mountains that surrounded and stretched out as far as he could see through the falling snow, he shakily got to his feet and pulled the hem of his free flowing nightrobe closer to his shivering body in an attempt to cut out the wind. It was useless however since the thin material offered no real defense against the cutting winds or freezing snow that blew against him. He was in the midst of trying to decide if he should venture beyond the black patterned drapery that separated the balcony from the inside of the tower but someone else made the decision for him. He startled when a hand settled at the center of his back and ushered him forward and through the drapes. He attempted to turn and see who it was but the insistent hand making him walk forward kept him from looking, guiding him to stand before the rostrum of a shadow covered throne. The throne itself was hidden from his sight by an icy ring of jagged growths that he could only assume had formed over a lengthy span of time from the outside elements blowing into the tower through the opening that led to the balcony.
The rustling of material and clinking of beads caught his attention and he looked up to see a cracked face – no a mask – settled within an intricately, if not near impossibly, draped hood. The person? Being? Creature? He did not know what to call it but it stared down at him with one still visible eye where the other was utterly destroyed from a deep fracture that obliterated most of the left side of its face, dipping down to the eerie smile of the mask. He gasped and stepped away from the thing as it lifted one flame tipped hand and gesture toward the throne in such a fashion it was as if it were presenting it to him.
Turning his attention back to the black stone throne he noted that what could be seen between the ice mounds had as much ice and frost running along its carved surface as the citadel’s exterior. Moving a little closer and to the side to look between the ice spires he come to realize that the throne was not as vacant as he had assumed. Looking back over his shoulder to try and gain some understanding of what he was seeing from the strange being, he was met with only an empty room. It was gone. He would get no help there. Turning back to the throne he cautiously approached and peeked through the ice to find a man bound to the throne with gore slick tendons, one serpent slung along his shoulders and biting its own tail and another suspended over the man’s face that was held in place by a statue’s hand. He was mildly startled when the statue turned its head to look at him, its blank eyes all of warning him to keep back and away from its prisoner.
Strange… Who was this man that he had been led to and why was he bound? There must have been reason for it. He could not see his face from the base of the throne’s podium and the statue holding the man’s face up only helped obscure his identity further. Perhaps it would be for the best if he did not know though… there was something very dark about this man. An aura of ill intent and destructive nature all of radiated off of him which made him want to cower in its wake. Truly, whoever this man was it was likely in everyone’s best interest that he was kept ensnared to this throne. If he could so palpably feel the anger of this person he dared not consider what would happen should he break free.
He had no issue heeding the silent warning of the guardian that was helping to hold this man in place. He would keep his distance. It would be a better idea to try and find a way to leave this forsaken place anyways. He needed to get back to the world he knew and leave this foreign citadel and its master behind. Decided, he turned and started to slink carefully toward where he though the throne room’s exit lay but gasped and wobbled dangerously on unsteady feet when the fortress around him shuddered violently. Thousands if not more voices bellowed up from deep in the heart of the citadel, the screams and cries of beasts and demons echoing and bouncing through the stone corridors and stairwells as if they were proudly announcing an important and long awaited event. Dread had already began to squeeze his heart with its cold hand when he slowly turned back to look at the throne, seeing quite clearly the bloody bindings that held the man shrivel and dry up. He made a sound of surprised horror when the man flexed and yanked harsh enough to snap and tear them away to rid himself of the confining binds. The serpent round the man’s neck released its tail when its master began to move and reared back with an angry roar, the sound coming out too similar to the howls of the hounds of war to not frighten him.

‘So it begins…’
Looking around he tried to find the source of the disembodied voice but he stopped when the ice ring around the throne shattered, falling back onto the ground with a yelp when a jagged shard of ice embedded into his thigh. Dread gave way to intense fear as he yanked the shard out and scrambled back across the slick floor on hands that kept slipping on small patches of ice. An angry and near animalistic scream fueled him to pick up his pace, working to put as much distance between himself and the mysterious but obviously dangerous man. His escape was thwarted when one of his hands found an icy patch on the stone floor, the hand slipping from beneath him and causing him to fall back onto the cold floor with a pained wheeze. He scrambled to get back up, chancing a glance at the man to find him crushing the statue’s head with such a roar of anger it made him freeze. He was still unable to move when the man turned around, his face completely hidden behind a wall of long dark hair. Despite the obscuring hair and shadows that fell across the man he could still see a cold wrath burning in the gilded eyes that promised nothing but death, destruction and an end to everything and everyone he knew. Visions of all that and more flashed before his eyes before ending in the world crumbling into nothingness at this man’s hands and he found he was unable to contain his scream of horror and denial at what was presented as the true end. Of everything.

“MUNINN!?”

Muninn snapped out of the nightmare mid-scream at the forceful sound of his name being called into his face, sitting up out of the tangle of covers and nearly smashing into Yavanna as he did. The nightmare was already fading from cognitive memory, leaving a bitter and dismal feeling in its wake as the lady of the green earth tried to ease him out of his tearful frenzy. Her gentle hands moved through his tangled hair to tame it and then up and down his arms to try and calm his erratic breathing and violently pounding heart. Eventually he settled down enough to notice he had awakened several of the other Maiar in the communal sleeping quarters, some staring with curious if not concerned sleep blurred eyes while others looked far less than thrilled at the rude awakening. Muninn immediately felt a rush of guilt at disturbing everyone with yet another night-terror, his face reddening a bit to reflect his embarrassment.
Yavanna seemed to notice his ill-at-ease at bothering the others and leaned close so that only he could hear her, her low toned voice whispering quietly into his ear. “The dreams again?” He nodded slowly, burying his face in his hands as he tried to will the disjointed dream away, missing how Yavanna’s lips pulled into a deeply concerned frown as she sat back. “Come with me.” She whispered as she coaxed him up from the sweat soaked sheets of the bed, giving a chiding look to a few of the other Maiar that were leaned forward and showing how overly curious they were of Muninn’s private affairs. The nosey men and women flinched when they were caught and fell back into their beds and tried to play it off as if that they had not just been doing what they had been caught doing as the lady of the house bid them all return to sleep. The still sleep-disoriented Muninn whispered a quiet apology to the rest of the awakened Maiar as Yavanna ushered him away from the common house and through the connecting rotunda that led to the heart of her rustic home and further still to her own personal quarters. Once within her secluded room away from any prying eyes or ears, Yavanna latched the door behind them.
“This is the fifth time this week alone you have suffered because of dreams…” Yavanna sighed, guiding Muninn toward the open window that held the sole burning candle in the room before breaking away and coming to stand before him with her delicate hands clasped in front of her waist. Her eyebrows bowed with worry, her lip dipping at one side. “Dear one, I know you do not like to bother Nessa or myself with anything that ails you but I think now is a good time to start. You are not a part of my house simply to serve me or tend my gardens. You are my responsibility and it is my duty to care for you and ensure your wellbeing.” Yavanna tilted her head, her long braid shifting with the movement. “Do not be afraid to talk with me. My ears are always open and willing to listen when you need to unburden yourself, Muninn. Now tell me, what is wrong?”
Muninn sighed heavily, lifting one hand from beneath the vine embroidered nightrobe to rub harshly at his face and tear matted eyelashes. So like Yavanna to always offer her help when she knew he would not seek her out for it. Truly, Muninn believe he was part of the houses of the two kindest of the Valar in all of Aman. How he wound up with such luck he could never know since luck was not exactly his strongest suite by any means. “I have been having this dream for a very long time, my lady. It is not out of the ordinary and I did not feel it was necessary to both-“ He cut off when Yavanna leveled a look at him that all of said ‘what did I just tell you about “bothering” me?’ Sighing again he let his hand drop, his mind finally waking up enough to remind him it was not proper indicate to stand so loosely in front of the lady of the house when addressing her. Clasping his hands neatly beneath the folds of his long flowing robe, he cleared his throat and lowered his eyes to stare at the skirting of Yavanna’s regal gown. “It simply did not seem pressing enough to mention.”
“When your dreams constantly leave you screaming bloody murder in the middle of the night, loud enough to wake up the entire house, I dare say it has becoming “pressing”, dear one.” Yavanna chided mildly, nodding her head toward where the forges of Aulë lay. “I would not be surprised if they heard you all the way at the housing of my husband.” Muninn’s eyes widened as his cheeks flared a deep shade of red before he lowered his head in a continuation of his earlier embarrassment from simply awaking the other Maiar of Yavanna. “I am sorry, my lady. I had intended already to leave out for Oromë’s woods within a few days time to keep from disrupting you or the others. Perhaps I should simply leave out in the morning instead if you will allow it.”
Yavanna chuckled, turning to stare out the window toward the expansive forest that lay to the west of her pastures and gardens. “I know you have learned from Nessa the art of nomadic living but wouldn’t you only awaken all those that call his woods home?” Muninn groaned at Yavanna’s well placed if not dry jab, realizing he should have known better than to tell her his intentions and not expect her to give her accurate input. “I may not know those woods as well as their master but Nessa has shown me quite a few secluded areas in her brother’s wood that are hardly traveled by either us or beasts.” He paused before adding, “…Maybe the change in scenery will ease my mind from the visions I see.”
Yavanna looked over her shoulder at Muninn, her eyebrows pinching down at the vague reference to “visions”. “What is it that you dream about, dear one? You have skirted the issue long enough. Tell me.”
Muninn chewed lightly on his bottom lip, turning away from Yavanna and the flickering candle that offered a splash of dim light to the room around them. He considered how to explain, finding it very hard when in truth he could hardly remember the dream but only mere pieces of it. However what he did remember was beyond disturbing and dismaying to think about. “I don’t remember the dream so well and can’t really recall all that happens. But what I am certain of is that it has always been the same one and, up until now, never changed.”
“A recurring dream?” Yavanna asked as she brought her hands up to hold in front of her midsection. She stared into the flickering orange flame of the candle, watching the beads of animal fat drip down onto the intricate candleholder at its base. “How long have you been having this one dream?”
“I-I don’t know.” Muninn admitted, lifting his hands out to the side to add emphasis to his statement, not really remembering when they began at all and yet not remembering a time when he wasn’t visited by the strange phantasm. “Long enough I no longer know when it began. But it used to be infrequent, occurring only rarely and easy to ignore. It is only recently that it has become a nightly occurrence. It is so strange, my lady. Though I can’t remember the exact details of the dream I always remember the black throne and the man that is bound within it.”
Turned away from her, Muninn could not see the shock that widened Yavanna’s eyes but she quickly concealed her unease and surprise when the Maia turned to look at her over his shoulder. “I can never see his face but I know he is bound for reason. Good reason. I’ve never felt so much pure hate from any living being I have ever met in all my life. I dare say I never thought it possible.”
Yavanna snorted, crossing her arms across her breast as she wryly muttered in a fashion not entirely characteristic of her. “Thankfully you have never had to suffer the hate of Melkor as we have since you came to us. We have been blessed by his absence for the last handful of ages and I hope it lasts for several more.”
Muninn’s ears perked at the mention of Melkor, a name he’d heard sparingly by the others. Or at least when he was around. He was near certain it was intentional on the collective whole of the Valar and Maiar to keep that name from his ears as often as possible. Perhaps he should find it suspicious but he could not fathom why it would be. He had long accepted he was being sheltered from anything and everything that had to do with the rogue Valar because he was the last to descend to Arda, therein he was the sole person to never know him or his dark and chaotic influence. He had at least been taught of his crimes against the world but even his knowledge on that was pretty base and not in depth. More than anything he just knew Melkor’s name was synonymous with dark intent, honeyed words when he wanted something, and cruelty and Muninn was more than happy to never have known the man personally.
But still, good intentions or not, he did find their need to protect him from the name was smothering to a point of near ridiculousness. The only other person he knew less about was Aulë’s Maia, Mairon, who was well and truly just as vile as Melkor himself. Should the unlikely day come that he were to meet Melkor he would never know it. Hard to know a man when one did not even know a hint of what he looked like or the type of appearance he was prone to choose. The term “dark” only helps so much on that point… and yet he had to wonder now. Had it been Melkor in his dream? Had it been their great enemy that he kept dreaming of bound to his dark throne? It would make sense on one hand… yet completely perplexing on the other. Why would he, of anyone, dream about a man he did not know?
“Do you think it is Melkor that I have dreamt about, my lady?” Muninn asked, turning around fully to face Yavanna as he waited for her to answer. The woman seemed to consider his question deeply for several moments, weighing her answer carefully before she turned to look at him with dark troubled eyes. “I don’t know for sure, Muninn. Perhaps you are or maybe your mind is simply conjuring an image of him because you fear the pain and suffering he will bring upon us all should he escape his imprisonment Eru himself bestowed upon him.”
Muninn’s face paled considerably, his eyebrows curving severely to reflect the intense fear that had gripped him when he’d first been awakened by Yavanna’s voice in the common house. “I mentioned the dream was different this time didn’t I, my lady? Up until tonight I only ever dreamt of seeing the man bound to the throne with one serpent round his neck and another held above him and feeling terrified of what he stands for. It always ended there before but this time…” Muninn swallowed thickly, a hand lifting to tug anxiously at one of the leather bound twists of hair at the side of his face. “…he broke free and that horrid serpent all of trumpeted the beginning of the end. I know that is what it meant. Not just for Middle-Earth but the end of the world. I knew it. I saw it!”
Already knowing he was about to work himself into a frenzy from the sinister overtone of his dream, Yavanna stepped over and wrapped her arms around the nearly hyperventilating man, bringing him close to offer him the comfort he desperately needed at that moment. She was careful to keep her own trepidations of what the dream was implying hidden beneath a fearless and maternal mask, not wanting to let Muninn know or it would only upset him more than he was. Her role was to comfort when it was needed and to seek out either her husband’s ear or Manwë’s guidance when she needed it herself, which she knew would be in the near future. A meeting with their lord to discuss Muninn and especially his dream was long overdue. “Calm yourself, dear one.” She soothed in a gentle voice, “It was only a dream and dreams are only phantasms that cannot hurt us.”
Muninn shook his head against Yavanna’s chest, not entirely ready to believe her when he could still remember the hazy image of the sun’s vessel crashing into the mountains that surrounded Aman or hearing Arien’s cries in her death throes. “How do you know? Maybe it is no dream but a vision I have been cursed with. Would it not make sense if it was Melkor I have been seeing? Wouldn’t it make sense that I saw him breaking from Eru’s imprisonment only to see visions of our world’s destruction? Was that not prophesized by Námo himself?”
Yavanna shushed Muninn, rubbing a hand down his head in slow deliberate fashion to calm him. “What if you are dreaming of Melkor breaking free? What can you do about it? If he is to break free and destroy us all then it is simply meant to be. Nothing lasts forever, not even immortality is a promise of unending life. Just remember that an end is not necessarily for the worse, dear one. No matter how despairing the thought of death may be it should be remembered that where something ends there is still the promise of a new beginning.” The woman pressed an affectionate kiss to the man’s temple, “Trust that Eru would not let this world end without the promise of a new and greater song to be sung. I know in my heart and soul that this is how it will be. Now please stop worrying about the things you have seen under the sway of sleep.” Pulling back she gave the Maia a once over, noting the strain of fatigue that was still visible in his dull green eyes from too many nights of his sleep being cut short by the terror brought on by his dream. Knowing sunrise was still some time away she led Muninn to her bed, “You are exhausted, Muninn. Do not worry about returning to the sleeping quarters to sleep. Maybe my bed can offer you some respite from your dreams.”
Muninn pulled away from Yavanna and smiled a small thankful smile but shook his head at her generous offer, not wanting to inconvenience her in the least. “No. I could not. This is your bed, not mine, so I would feel only guilt to take it from you. I do not mind returning to the common house to sleep and I’m sure you would like to sleep yourself.” Yavanna tsk’d Muninn, waving a finger in his face “Dear one, if you are to learn any lesson from me then please learn the lesson of accepting what is offered to you freely.” The woman smiled widely, gesturing toward her bed, “What is mine is yours. It is a rule of life I have lived by for many moons and I have offered it to many. There is nothing wrong with being willing to share so long as it is not abused and thus far none have abused my generosity and I know you will not either. I sleep little these days and will not need my bed in the time you are using it.”
Laughing lightly at Yavanna’s insistence he use her bed, Muninn lifted his arms in mock defeat which caused the woman to smile wider in some form of victory as she pulled back the beautiful comforter and sheets. “Very well, my lady. If it would wound your heart should I refuse your bed then I shall sleep here.” He jested mildly, rubbing a hand along one of the bed’s ornate post that was carved in the shape of a winding tree.
“My heart would be wounded so deeply I fear I would wither away, dear one.” Yavanna quipped back as she brought one hand up to place over her heart to carry on the small jest, the dry humor thick in her words so that Muninn had to laugh. “I can tell.” He chuckled, sliding into the bed and allowing Yavanna to pull the covers over him. She sat down beside him once she was finished and Muninn let his eyes flutter shut, knowing the woman would likely stay there the rest of the night. Her protective nature was about as inherent to her as it was to Nessa when they were around him and he was honestly glad to have it. To know someone cared enough to simply sit with him through the night after his trying nightmare - or vision? - it meant a lot. Speaking of Nessa... she had been absent for longer than he had anticipated when she’d left with her brother. “Have you received any word when Nessa and Oromë will return from Middle-Earth?” He asked Yavanna not bothering to open his eyes.
“According to Oromë’s last message he mentioned they should be expected back soon. Hopefully that means very soon.” Yavanna shook her head, her heart falling at the thought of what was left of the once green and beautiful world of Middle-Earth, now all of destroyed by Melkor’s ilk. She had been against both of them going there from the beginning, especially Nessa. Melkor may have been contained but his creations and servants were not. That was enough reason to worry for both the Valar. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, Muninn. Take heart knowing that not sleep.”
Muninn smiled when the woman’s hand found his head and began to stroke and untangle his hair, her heavenly contralto voice starting into a quiet song that was very quickly leading him back to sleep. He hmm’d to himself as he nestled into the sheets, nearly falling asleep but a stray thought struck him about his dream that he’d forgotten to mention earlier. The only other thing he could ever remember clearly from it.
“I hear a song in my dream too.” Muninn yawned, blinking his sleep blurring eyes up at Yavanna. “It’s nothing like anything you or any of us Ainur are privy to.” He squinted one eye as he tried to remember the sound of the melody from his dream so he knew how to describe it to Yavanna. “It’s… like… a dark lullaby? I wish I could remember it clearly… but I know he is singing to me. For me. Strange, no?” If Muninn noticed the way Yavanna’s hand froze in his hair he didn’t show it, instead burrowing deeper into the covers. “Whoever ‘he’ is…” he murmured as an after-thought before slipping back to sleep.
Melkor’s dug his nails into the stone arms of his throne as he glared up at yet another building drip of venom, already challenging it to fall. How long had he been held here? How many millennia had passed this time? How many more would before he was able to free himself? He’d heard the phrase “time heals all wounds” drop from the lips of many before and could he find the person responsible for coining it, he would rip their tongue from their head. Even though he couldn’t put a number to the amount of time that had passed since he’d been set and bound into his throne in subtle form of mockery of how he viewed himself, he was still hurting. Not simply from the suffocating weight that shoved him down uncomfortably, its weight pressing down upon his chest so that it was near impossible to fill his lungs with air. Or the pain inflicted upon him from the venom that ceaselessly dripped down to scald his face to such a degree it felt as if he had no face left to scald. Or even from the unyielding pain the Secret Fire elicited from its refusal to separate from his naked spirit, the fire burning and scorching him with pain a hundred-fold worse than that of the Silmaril’s burning his hands when he had taken them so long ago it felt like another life altogether.
None of that touched upon the raw wound in his heart which had only widened as time wore on until it was just flayed open completely and exposed to the gnats of anguish and flies of desolation to feast upon. All because he had failed to realize – or rather did not want to realize - just how much one devout little Maia had meant to him. He was no longer afraid to admit how wrong he was to refuse him. How simple and shortsighted he had been just to spare his own sense of pride at the expense of the one person that truly did revere him from the moment he’d convinced him to abandon the foolish teachings of the other Ainur and even up until the end when he’d done everything in his power to repel him. His anger, that had built during the lifetimes of wandering the madness of the Void, had convinced him Mairon was to blame even when knew it was a false claim.
But Mairon was gone. Dead in body in spirit and all he had left were the vivid memories of the Maia’s well deserved sadness that blanketed him whenever he was near or the man’s crying naked soul struggling and reaching desperately for him before Eru snuffed him out like he was nothing more than a candle that had been allowed to burn for too long.
Melkor’s anger swelled at the memory, teeth clenched tight as the venom broke free from Enyalië’s mouth and splashed onto his face, eliciting a howl from him that was a mix of pain and pent up anger that he was desperate to direct at someone. Anyone. Anyone but Mairon, even if that was beyond impossible to do or not do as it were. Even though he had a turn of heart on admitting to himself that he had cared – loved – Mairon nothing else had changed. He was no changed man in any other respect and when he was finally released from this hell Eru had left him in he would finish what his servants had been doing for him in his place since he’d been bound. They had been eating away at Middle-Earth, ruining it from the inside out and eradicating whatever inferior creatures they were able to get their hands upon. Though he could not see their progress he knew he would be pleased by the wasteland outside his mountainous stronghold which suited him just fine. Neither this continent nor the elves he despised or the men or dwarves he decided he despised just as much interested him. Not nearly as much as they once did. Their eradication would only come second, first he had every intention of paying a visit to Aman and seeing just how well his kin had flourished since he’d been neatly taken out of their lives.
Then he’d raze the entirety of Valinor to the ground.
He’d decide what he would do with the Ainur when he got there. He wasn’t entirely sure yet. Perhaps he’d take some as prisoners to have as something to enjoy torturing at his leisure but most would just perish. All the other simple minded Valar he would kill in the slowest most painful of ways he could come up with, ensuring he killed them just as finitely as he had that infuriating Tulkas. Such a strange twist…who knew the Secret Fire was not only capable of breathing life into beings but snatching it away too? Truly, Eru was a damned fool if he had allowed him to find the flame if he knew of that ability. It was almost as if the creator of all wanted Melkor to destroy all he had created and even Melkor had to admit he had seriously begun to question this. He’d had a very long time to consider it… the thought that he might be playing into some higher pre-ordained plan of Eru’s made his skin crawl to consider but it was easily ignored. For the time at least. No matter how much it would infuriate him to know Eru was playing the puppet master to his puppet he would not let it stem his desire to see the world crushed beneath his foot. Then he could form it into what he wanted, not what Eru desired. Anything he created would be so much better. Maybe Eru would eventually see this. Or maybe he wouldn’t.
All in time… right now all he really desired was to hear the singular melody that could only be pulled from the mouth of one of the Ainur as they die. It had been a wonderful sound to his ears when it came from Tulkas and he wondered how the others might sound in their death throes. Pity none other than himself could appreciate the beauty of death and calamitous chaos. He wasn’t even sure if Mairon had been able to… motive and control drove the Maia, not blood thirst and a desire to destroy.
Melkor’s thoughts scattered as the statue above him shifted, his ears twitching when he heard the far away wails of his servants calling for him. He was caught off guard when the stone hand on his throat cracked open to release him, so much so he very nearly did not twist his face out of the way of the final drop of venom that fell from Enyalië’s fang. Twisting his neck around to ease the painful tension the long held forced position had caused he sighed in small pleasure as the vertebra snapped and popped to relieve the uncomfortable pressure. He grinned to himself as Sanwë hissed deep in its throat as the enchantment that kept the serpent from releasing its tail shattered, allowing the beast to yank back from its tail and roar so load it seemed to shake the citadel’s foundation.
So…. It seemed he would be granted his freedom much sooner than he had expected.
The entrails that held him still looked as fresh as they had when Eru ripped them from the beast that could have been considered his child eons ago. Apparently they had remained this way for the entirety of his entrapment but this was already changing, the vivid and lively red dulling and turning black as the tendons and meat shriveled. Yanking hard at the binds, they snapped with ease and fell away to grant him the finality of his freedom of which Melkor eagerly accepted. Rising from the throne slowly he turned to look at the statue that had served as his guard, the female carving shifting slightly but otherwise not moving. Her part had been played and the life Eru had granted to her was already beginning to ebb away to leave her the soulless statue she once was.
Melkor was quick to first pluck Mairon’s ring from Enyalië’s mouth before seizing and breaking the hand that held the serpent, allowing the beast to sway its long body down to the throne to repeatedly open and close its stiff mouth. Finished, he grabbed hold of the statue’s face and slowly started to apply pressure against the cold stone so that it began to crack and cave in slowly. If Eru had been so kind to give this statue life then he would take it upon himself to grant it death as well before it lost its sentience. The statue struggled and tried to push Melkor back with its one unbroken hand as it suffered the reversal in their roles. Snarling loudly, having hardly forgotten his long built up wrath; he took hold of the statue’s head and broke it away from the body, smashing the face in his hands. He fluttered his eyes against the cloud of dust, dropping the shattered remains of the statue’s face to the ground as he picked up Enyalië and descended the stairs to the ground level. The buildup of snow and ice that had formed at the foot of the steps was obliterated with a flick of his wrist, not ceasing walking until he pushed past the drapery to stand out on the balcony.
How pleasing it was to finally have the ability to move freely and see something other than the roof of the tower. Placing the onyx ring between his teeth to hold momentarily he took hold of both his serpents, running a hand down along the underbelly of both before he crushed them together. The serpents hissed and growled as their bodies began to melt and fuse together in grisly fashion, both roaring in unison as they were tossed over side of the balcony. Melkor stepped back several paces as he waited, removing the ring from his mouth to hold tightly in his hand. He smiled widely when a behemoth claw shot up from over side the balcony, black nails breaking and digging into the stone as another claw joined it to pull a two headed dragon up onto the balcony. The heads snapped and hissed at one another as Melkor approached the new form of his serpents, both immediately dropping their heads to rub against him with a sound that was not too terribly unlike a cat’s purr.
“This should suite you both well enough…” Melkor murmured, rubbing one hand down the length of Enyalië’s face before shoving it away. “Go to Aman and be my eyes and ears. Get close enough to observe but do not attack until I am ready.” He commanded the beast, throwing one hand in the direction where the hidden continent lay to emphasis his decree. “You will not have to wait long for me to follow...” Accepting the orders and wasting no time, the dragon immediately turned and threw itself out into the blizzard, flapping its expansive webbed wings to propel it through the harsh winds.
Staring after the diminishing form of Sanwë and Enyalië, Melkor ran one hand through his tangled hair that was as long as it was before his imprisonment, pulling the obscenely long mahogany strands through his fingers and around to his face to stare at it. He briefly considered cutting it off to his neck again but opted against it. That whim of the past had long left him and was replaced with the stray if not overly sentimental memory of Mairon taking entirely too much pleasure in running his fingers through the long strands.
Turning his attention down to his hand, he turned it palm up and cracked his fist open to look at Mairon’s ring, rolling it up into his fingers as he brought the small trinket up to eyelevel. Sighing he took the small thing and slid it onto his pinky finger, the ring just barely fitting. The sentimental moment ended quickly, Melkor returning to the familiar wrath he was itching to let loose on his kin.
It was time for a long overdue family reunion.

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Ultimately this is some sort of AU angbang art/story series called 'The Different Story' that follows a silly story idea I've had mulling around in my head for a while. Previous picture in the series here:

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Tumblr: lae-rae.tumblr.com/

Yavanna, Mairon (c) Tolkien
Design (c) me