Hello all! Welcome to the blog. All who speak 'friend' may enter.
This is my alternate blog specifically for me to geek out about tolkien.
I'm Loukas, He/Him, 20.
Here I come to post fanart and hopefully fanfic???
I do not know at the moment, but felt I needed this space for my own ends.
I don't have a large DNI list, all I ask is to be discerning and don't be hateful. If you don't like ships, like angbang, then don't interact with those posts. I only bid evildoers to be gone and not pass into here. If you come with malintent I will banish you into the void from whence you came.
so apparently some people feel like it’s annoying when someone engages with a lot of stuff from the same person, like going through their ship tag and liking all the content there.
hearing about this, i was immediately paranoid about reblogging literally anything from anyone i don’t talk to on a regular basis.
so to save others from the same paranoia, i’m gonna say that if you like every single post on my goddamn blog it is okay. i might be kind of concerned about your level of time management, going through 23,000 posts, but it wouldn’t bother me.
I decided to count all the times Melkor and Mairon are described as smiling or laughing in canon, and oh boy… I knew they did it a lot, but I didn't expect it to happen that many times.
Of course, it's when they're either having the time of their lives while doing evil things or eagerly anticipating the fruits of their evil deeds <3
"Thus ere the Valar were aware, the peace of Valinor was poisoned. The Noldor began to murmur against them, and many became filled with pride, forgetting how much of what they had and knew came to them in gift from the Valar. Fiercest burned the new flame of desire for freedom and wider realms in the eager heart of Fëanor; and Melkor laughed in his secrecy, for to that mark his lies had been addressed, hating Fëanor above all, and lusting ever for the Silmarils."
"Therefore Melkor said to her: ‘Do as I bid; and if thou hunger still when all is done, then I will give thee whatsoever thy lust may demand. Yea, with both hands.’ Lightly he made this vow, as he ever did; and he laughed in his heart. Thus did the great thief set his lure for the lesser."
"But Melkor looked north, and saw afar the shining plain, and the silver domes of Valmar gleaming in the mingling of the lights of Telperion and Laurelin. Then Melkor laughed aloud, and leapt swiftly down the long western slopes; and Ungoliant was at his side, and her darkness covered them."
"Many of Fëanor’s people indeed repented of the burning at Losgar, and were filled with amazement at the valour that had brought the friends whom they had abandoned over the Ice of the North; and they would have welcomed them, but they dared not, for shame.
Thus because of the curse that lay upon them the Noldor achieved nothing, while Morgoth hesitated, and the dread of light was new and strong upon the Orcs. But Morgoth arose from thought, and seeing the division of his foes he laughed."
"Then Sauron smiled, saying: ‘That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!’
Now Gorlim would have drawn back, but daunted by the eyes of Sauron he told at last all that he would know. Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim, and revealed to him that he had seen only a phantom devised by wizardry to entrap him; for Eilinel was dead. ‘Nonetheless I will grant thy prayer,’ said Sauron; ‘and thou shalt go to Eilinel, and be set free of my service.’ Then he put him cruelly to death."
"Thu laughed: 'Patience! Not very long
shall ye abide. But first a song
I will sing to you, to ears intent.'
Then his flaming eyes he on them bent,
and darkness black fell round them all."
"But Lúthien heard his answering voice, and she sang then a song of greater power. The wolves howled, and the isle trembled. Sauron stood in the high tower, wrapped in his black thought; but he smiled hearing her voice, for he knew that it was the daughter of Melian. The fame of the beauty of Lúthien and the wonder of her song had long gone forth from Doriath; and he thought to make her captive and hand her over to the power of Morgoth, for his reward would be great."
"After endless wanderings in corridors they stumble into the pres-
ence of Morgoth. Morgoth speaks. 'Who art thou that flittest about my halls as a bat, but art not a bat? Thou dost not belong here, nor wert thou summoned. Who has ever come here unsummoned? None!'
"But I was summoned. I am Luthien daughter of Thingol.'
Then Morgoth laughed, but he was moved with suspicion, and said that her accursed race would get no soft words or favour in Angband."
'Is it dauntless Hurin,' quoth Delu-Morgoth,
'stout steel-handed, who stands before me,
a captive living as a coward might be?
Knowest thou my name, or need'st be told
what hope he has who is haled to Angband --
the bale most bitter, the Balrogs' torment?'
'I know and I hate. For that knowledge I fought thee
by fear unfettered, nor fear I now,'
said Thalion there, and a thane of Morgoth
on the mouth smote him; but Morgoth smiled.
"Then Morgoth laughed, and he said: 'Death you may yet crave
from me as a boon.' Then he took Hurin to the Haudh-en-Nirnaeth,
and it was then new-built and the reek of death was upon it; and
Morgoth set Hurin upon its top and bade him look west towards
Hithlum, and think of his wife and his son and other kin."
"In Menegroth, and in the deep halls of Nargothrond, and even in the hidden realm of Gondolin, the fame of the deeds of the Two Captains was heard; and in Angband also they were known.
Then Morgoth laughed, for now by the Dragon-helm was Húrin’s son revealed to him again; and ere long Amon Rûdh was ringed with spies."
"Yet there were ears that heard the words that Húrin spoke, and report of all came soon to the Dark Throne in the north; and Morgoth smiled, for he knew now clearly in what region Turgon dwelt, though because of the eagles no spy of his could yet come within sight of the land behind the Encircling Mountains. This was the first evil that the freedom of Húrin achieved."
"But Morgoth thought that his triumph was fulfilled, recking little of the sons of Fëanor, and of their oath, which had harmed him never and turned always to his mightiest aid; and in his black thought he laughed, regretting not the one Silmaril that he had lost, for by it as he deemed the last shred of the people of the Eldar should vanish from Middle-earth and trouble it no more."
"And Sauron, sitting in his black seat in the midst of the Temple, had
laughed when he heard the trumpets of Ar-Pharazôn sounding for battle; and again he had laughed when he heard the thunder of the storm; and a third time, even as he laughed at his own thought, thinking what he would do now in the world, being rid of the Edain for ever, he was taken in the midst of his mirth, and his seat and his temple fell into the abyss."
"He said: “Who are you?” I still did not answer, but it hurt
me horribly; and he pressed me, so I said: “A hobbit.”
‘Then suddenly he seemed to see me, and he laughed at me. It was cruel. It was like being stabbed with knives. I struggled. But he said: “Wait a moment! We shall meet again soon. Tell Saruman that this dainty is not for him. I will send for it at once. Do you understand? Say just that!”
‘Then he gloated over me. I felt I was falling to pieces."
I love The Silmarillion. I like The Rings of Power. I love Angbang/Melron.
I don’t love the conversation between Sauron and Celebrimbor in TROP being used to state abusive Angbang is canon and all other Angbang shipping is wrong.
But the showrunners of TROP said Sauron never lies in the show, like a fae…
So I wrote this.
Rating: General audiences
Words: 1,970
On AO3
🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤🧡🖤
“Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?”
If I had a mouth it would be blown wide with a sudden storm of laughter, a sabre curved slash of mirth at the innovative audacity of him.
Tortured.
Oh sly thing, for where hides the lie? Deftly woven in the conception of the word. You have him grime-caked, blood-streaked, chained in body and mind. Tortured, you say, well that can only mean one thing to him in such a state.
Ah, which is the sharper, your ingenuity or your cruelty? For there is no lie in your words, no, the deception is in the velvet vulnerability of your delivery, it is hidden in the creased brow of constructed grief at the recollection of all the tortuous deeds I supposedly enacted upon you.
Well, then, let us cast ourselves into the distant past, for I have nought better to do here in this endless black. I have managed to seep forth some part of me in secret shadow to spy upon the world I sowed so much of myself into. A pitiful cloud of reeking venom that belies the true majesty of its origin. Of course I sought you out as my first act of this semblance of freedom. Let my mind be filled with the iridescent golden amber of your fiery spirit to light this oppressive unyielding darkness.
Tortured at the hands of a god.
Let us think.
You could mean in the beginning when I would slip unseen into Aulë’s forges and unmake the deeds of him and his servants, including the wondrous creations molded by your fastidious hands. It was done to frustrate Aulë, not you, but I could not do one without the other.
Then later when I finally caught your attention and would visit just to sing soft secrets into your ear as you toiled so that after much crease of brow and many a puffing of copper strands from off your face you would whirl around in indignation to exhale exasperated at me. But the delicate curve of your ear, so smooth from pointed tip to plump lobe, was too inviting and I would soon return with my eager mouth to drop more delicacies into it.
I suppose there was also the time you begged me to flee with you as the walls of Utumno groaned in protest from the onslaught of my foes, and I sent you on without me with a promise I would join you at Angband. I did keep that promise… if only three thousand years later.
In weary triumph I returned and you held the scarred remains of my hands, now reminiscent of charred volcanic slopes, and I saw that whatever pain wracked my body, it was mirrored ten-fold in your gold dust eyes. The stretching years of my abandonment were etched in fine cracks upon your opalescent skin. You could not meet my eye, such was your sheer detestation of the jewels I set into my crown.
You were the only one I uncrowned myself for.
Then how could we forget the numerous occasions in Utumno and Angband both where I idled upon my throne, boredom swathing me as you laboured in endless preparations. I would watch and wait for you to be done with your ceaseless vigilance, but the desperation in my intent gaze was no match for your unwavering focus.
So I was left with no choice but to force that focus on me. I drowned your outrage with tidal-wave tongue and cooled your ire in frost-rimed embrace. After you would glower in a ruby resplendence that failed to stop the satisfied quirk at the edge of your mouth. Still chastisement would chase after me over your shoulder as you returned to your work.
Though maybe my worst torment of you was after I lay humiliated and alone, bereft of more than one gem. I called to you, as I had every day since you fled from your own abasement at the same hands that had brought me so low. Yet silent you remained and sepulchral I became. The Silmaril I could bear the loss of, the sunset splendour of gold-licked garnet that was you I could not.
Finally you saw fit to crawl back in dejected loathing, ink stain bruises under your eyes and ragged hair running in rusted rivulets about your haggard face, to fall in disheveled misery at my feet.
I confess here I failed you. You who had bathed my wounds after that fateful duel I was forced to, you who kissed away the heaviness of the crown upon my head that I refused to remove save for you, you who held my trembling form so it could find the bliss of sleep.
I beheld you in your pathetic state and all I felt was disappointment threaded through anger. I needed you and you dared come to me like this? My greeting was icier than the depths of my soul. My words were harder than the granite hall in which we conversed. And you did not flinch.
Even after I dismissed you and you returned to me with unblemished alabaster skin, effulgent hair reminiscent of a sunrise reflected on a river, a polished copper splendour, and molten gold irises blazing as lava spilled down the mountainside, I gave you nothing. You stood before me with a face of elegant marble and an expression as soft to match and I turned my gaze aside.
You let me have my sullen sulking, my melancholy moping, and said not a word. You stood beside my reeking foulness of discontented self and acted as you did before that wretched blood of Melian stained both our pride. My mood was pitched darker than this void which currently consumes me. When you reached for me I moved on. When your fingers graced my arm I flinched away.
Night fell and so did I, in cumbersome fatigue beleaguered by the chronic throb of my wounds. My mind was plagued with the discordant vileness of nightmares so that the sleep I so wrenchingly craved was callously snatched out of my grasp.
It is when I needed you most.
I felt you slide beside me and drape your strong supple arm about me. I demanded you leave, my pride momentarily greater than my pain. You only clung all the more tightly, cheek pressed into the raven curls at the nape of my sweat-dampened neck and whispered never.
For you knew. You always knew.
You shall always know.
That one word from your mouth shivered over my skin to dispel the idiocy of my petulance. I turned to press my apologies over and over to your mouth, your jaw, your temple, your throat, anywhere I could reach.
I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry. I am sorry.
You broke from my penitent onslaught to cradle my head in your hands. Fire-rimmed eyes blazed down on me and the cradle became a vice as you stroked one threatening thumb across the sharp ridge of my cheekbone.
Never again, Melkor, never will you hurt me like that again.
I sealed that promise with more than the deep kiss I immediately bestowed upon you. It was a promise I kept until the end. It is a promise I would keep now if it were possible.
Do you know what it is to be tortured at the hands of a god?
Yes, maybe that last is the memory you recall as you feign openness with that smith who would try to surpass the grandfather he never knew.
Perhaps it would have been less cruel to have licked your back open with many-tongued whip, or crushed the breath from your elegant neck with my cursed hands, or kicked you along the floor as though you were nought but debris beneath my feet, or- no. I cannot bear to think of more, for it sickens me to the very core of my being.
I snap myself back to the conversation at hand to rid me of such soul rending thoughts.
“For what he wished to destroy, I wished… to perfect.”
Solely truthful, I have no qualms in never denying this. Our methods were contradictory but our malevolence, our abhorrent mercilessness in obtaining our goals, remained identical. Your vision worked within mine and mine within yours. To destroy and perfect in tandem. You perfected my destruction. Once again it is your pleading case to cast me as the lone villain that is incongruent with the truth, but I cannot fault the meticulous manipulation. Use me as you will, for it is all the use I can be to you adrift here in this timeless night.
“Sometimes, the pain almost became a reward. Became a game. A contest, to see whose will was the mightier.”
Oh but whose will was the mightier in the end, Mairon, my love? Or should I address you now as Annatar? Or Sauron? Myriad names for each mirror shard façade that mesmerise incandescently all those poor fools who cannot see beyond the rippling surface you choose to show. Or more often they do not wish to see. For they cannot appreciate, let alone adore, your brimstone heart or fire-spun soul. They crave the mirage and cringe from the naked authenticity underneath.
What is this now? You tell him he chose this pain. Delicious! You tell him he forced you to torment him in bringing about your creative vision of these rings. Delectable!
“I am but the victim of your obstinance. And you, the true author of your torment.”
Exquisite. A half-truth presented as a whole. Your truth taking precedence over his. Fault that you should share in is laid entirely at his feet. Exquisite.
What a shame it is that you have broken the poor soul to such a degree that he no longer wishes to see your vision, he no longer needs the pretense. Great Deceiver he calls you.
“You can even deceive yourself.”
Oh how that must have sparked rage within you; I can see the carefully controlled mask slip too perceptibly for comfort. You are losing him, indeed, he may already be lost to you.
Though now a new thought slips unwelcome into my consciousness at his words. Could it be that you have deceived yourself on our shared history? Could it be you genuinely believe you were the victim of a pitiless and unloving god?
No.
This is all part of the game. To see if your will is mightier than his.
“Finish them.”
You stand and sweep from the room with all the elegance of a viper, black train a sliding tail as you slither hence. I watch you pass and for a moment I feel you pause, your eyes flitter across the shadows in which I am lurking, searching, searching. You can sense me here.
Your hand stretches forth, fingers reaching as though the dark is a tangible essence for you to hold. Alas, I am as ephemeral as the shade in which I hide. Still I ache at the thought of your fingertips brushing my own, sliding down until our fingers intertwine.
Your hand drops but your gaze does not. Fierce is the blue hue of your adopted eye. This disguise suits you, but it is nothing to the flame-haired terror I was privileged to have by my side.
This shadow is no match for your all-seeing eye, no matter the form you wear. You see me, as you always have.
Your lips twitch imperceptibly to dispel silent words before in another swish of black robe you are gone.
“I will make you proud, beloved.”
Oh my fire-filled wonder, my amber-bright glory, my gold-flecked storm of deceit and terror. My heart’s flame, my mind’s jewel, my soul’s mirror.
This is fantastic!!! Not enough people delve into Melkor’s thoughts at all but especially not at the beginning.
OP this is gold.
You’ve got Melkor’s voice spot on. The repetition of his searching for the Flame Imperishable and no one searching for him - yes! 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼 it always irked me that Eru just let him wander about in the dark and that none of the others thought to go after him either.
Also how the enmity between the brothers starts straight away. Melkor feeling shunned.
Also “Of wrath that scraped the sky” 🖤🖤🖤
“The maker smiled, cunning as he is.” - Hard agree that The One is cunning and he bestowed that part of himself unto Melkor and not a bit to Manwë.
But yes, this is glorious. Please, please, please finish it, I beg 🙏🏼🖤 especially if there is angbang incoming 😁
thank you!!! I truly appreciate this, as it was much effort but it always did irk me that we get none of Melkor's view.... I did in fact finish the first chapter last night when I could not sleep, since I knew I had something and could not go down until it was finished and I am going to post it on my page today!!
One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them
The ring, the one made by the dark Lord's hand. One he had made in secret, not allowing any of the elves to touch.... what if it was not just for world dominion.
The second age was one of sorrow for Marion.
His master, his beloved, his king was gone.
He attempted to make a cult for his precious Morgoth.
That didn't work.
So then he made the rings. First for the elves and men, the lesser rings. He needed information, this was true....
One ring to rule them all....
Who, to Sauron should rule them all? Morgoth.
One Ring to Find them.
All the elves, the men and the Ainur, they shall come. He will find them.
One ring to bring them all....
To their knees. He wants them brought before him in chains, for what being is more wrathful than a widow who can't die?
And in the darkness bind them
Bind whom? Marion and Melkor.
The ring cannonically had a consciousness and malice all its own. That is not of Sauron.
Then who?
Melkor.
If anyone could find a way to bring a consciousness from the void and act out a plan? It's Mairon.
So I propose that maybe the one ring was a wedding ring made for Morgoth, to litterally give to his master his very Fëa to wear on his finger for all time, so that he may give his power to serving his master.
My (probably) controversial take on how Melkor looks.
As you may know, Melkor was the mightiest of the Valar before he fell into evil. This is canonical. He could shapeshift until his form was nearly destroyed by Ungoliant... Therefore when stealing the silmarils and facing Ungoliant, before he lost the ability, he very well could have looked like this in order to blend in with the night + another take I made while conceptualizing how he might look post Fingolfin at the top, the scar is golden because I imagine a Vala would have ichor...:
I wanted to add this because there are about all of three different takes on how Melkor looks circulating around and I felt, tolkien never gave much a description of his physical attributes such as hair color... And thus it is up to creative interpretation. It may not be common to see him like this which I feel is all the more reason I should share my take.
