Melkor: Null and Void by Chilled in Hithlum

Falling In

It is well known amongst the Eldar that all inspiration and words unthought-of, enter in from the back of the head; although, this it seems was forgotten by Morgoth to whom which this sensation appeared as something astounding and new. Perhaps this condition applies not to the Valar at all; for indeed, do not the Powers of the World function on many different levels, and those other to that of the Children? Morgoth, however, is no longer counted among the Valar for he became improvident of his being and fell into darkness, a thing perverted and transformed; and none now that dwell within the Circles of Arda, including the Great Ones, truly knows the extent of his heart, save Eru alone. Now, what follows comes down from the declaration of many people: Elf, Dwarf and Man; warrior, slave and free; and not least by the testimony of mighty Tulkas. Much of what is stated regarding the Dark Lord’s own experience was recorded from the seemingly illogical mutterings of Melkor-Morgoth himself as he was carried away as a captive from his ruined stronghold to face the judgement of his kindred.

The War of Wrath, reaching a shattering conclusion on Beleriand-marred, thundered loud in the bottommost grots of once mighty Angband: where far beneath in the darkest pit, shrank the greatest and most terrible tyrant ever to issue his fell shadow upon the good earth. Melkor was he, the Morgoth, whom it was that arose in might against his maker and brethren; once intangible in form, now belittled in the flesh and trapped in a Crown of Iron stuck fast on a swollen head. The Dark Lord’s once unassailable armies were vanquished, slain and fled; or swallowed up in the destruction like so many valiant ones that opposed him. Finally, in the blackest darkness, he understood that his final strategy had failed. All about him the cavernous foundations of his own design violently crumbled and shook, smiting his titanic frame with the very rock that he had delved, long ago in the days of his power. The ‘Old Power’ had long since betrayed him because of ill use, and even such other energy as he could steal became disloyal: even his prize jewels ailing in captivity, gave him up in the dark and shone all the brighter upon his brow so as to reveal him whithersoever he would hide amid the wreckage.

Bereft, Melkor anticipated the inevitable; hearkening to every new sound but fearing only one, the dragging of Angainor, the Chain of Valinor; wrought in ages past in the Smithies of Aulë, but borne triumphantly by Tulkas, the champion of his foes. He long remembered his unbreakable bondage behind its links the previous time he succumbed to the harshness of its bite. Presently an unanticipated clank overhead drew riotously across his inner core, striking deep horror within him; throughout the subterranean complex the clamour of scrawped iron against rock echoed long and loud. He immediately turned blindly to flight, stumbling over his halting foot, and falling he span awkwardly landing flat on his back; he immediately lost consciousness upon hammering his head on a fallen boulder. At length his yellowed eyes flickered open, and for a brief moment there was blissful numbness, before the onslaught; searing white pain split across the back of his skull, met on either side by a deafening drone of metallic ringing invading each ear. He bodily creased up and thrashed about momentarily, unable to prevent himself from whimpering in the realisation of his anguish; but slowly and sporadically as his throes subsided, Melkor checked himself for any lasting damage, finding none; not even any loss of blood. The only thing amiss was that the iron band circling his aching head had slightly dislodged but still firmly held. Truly the crown had saved his life, but he held himself accursed and only too aware that this misadventure had not spared him from his doom; however not everything proved an evil, for soon thereafter came the internal onrush of giddy-blood, causing him to disregard the pain. Thus Melkor began to slide witless from his accustomed intellect into a state unknown; surely the prospect of such a thing would be absurd at any other time, but here on the brink of calamity he was neither able to defy it nor willing to try.

The intense whiteness that so pervaded his agony still shone brightly, but fluffier now and as light as the ethers; on a newly formed cloud he drifted, and revelling in the warmth of the Sun he was not afraid! At length, but in no time at all, there came loudly-faint from afar, a sound that fully engulfed him; the strains of which though long forgotten he instantly knew and yearned for. His way toward the source of the sound was immediately barred by great pillars swiftly rising all about him; with no hope of admittance he stood outside the Timeless Halls, on the very edge of Time! There without, Melkor heard therein the Great Themes of the Ainulindalë, and since he was placed apart, voiceless and unable to mar the Music with his discord: he listened. The Song gave him power according to his kind, but the power was not his and he was unable to maintain it; nor as his desire dictated was he able to steal it by perversion. However, as this was in the Time before Time, he saw before him the vision of Arda that had just been sung, and he saw that it was good! He saw what Ëa could have been without his meddling; a garden of bliss carefully tended for the Children of Ilúvatar, but Melkor knew that this was not the World that Is!

In his naked thought Melkor laughed to himself at the destruction that he alone had caused, and immediately his mind was revealed: in that moment he stood shamefaced and afraid as the One said unto him, “See now Melkor, the proof of that which I hath told you! See plainly the works of thy brethren and know their secrets; see illuminated by the Flame Imperishable their colours unsullied, and see also how those tiny trinkets that you hold in tribute to its glory reflect only its light. Go now, Melkor; go and await thy brother’s judgement!”

Melkor stirred amid dead silence and a deep chill, his whole left side was pitted with gravel whilst his arm flopped useless and uncomfortably numb. He feared to open his eyes and look again into that darkness, taking momentary solace in the pallid penetration that the Silmarils provided through his closed eyelids; involuntary, drowsily, his eyes slithered open to a sharp precise nothingness, and Melkor arose again from whence he had fallen. He flicked away the gravel and shook off his numbness realising now that he was free of any former pain; in truth he felt limber again, tall and young again, and he merrily laughed: in the face of his utter defeat and total humiliation, he actually properly laughed! He would have skipped but he remembered his disability and refrained lest he take another tumble: “Although?” he mused aloud. All at once any trace of mirth departed as soon as it arrived, for amid the stark absence of any other sound he recognised his own voice, and in that lonesome futility he frowned; his scars wrinkled, snagging in the furrows some grit lodged there still, and snarling he jerked his head in habitual discontent.

“Phantoms,” he said, “Phantoms sent to torment me during my last hours, sent to instil doubt; there is no Flame, THERE WAS NO FLAME! Eru you old deceiver, you knew my power and you feared it; you knew that I, the Elder King and Master of the Fates of Arda, would expend my strength in seeking this thing immaterial whilst you supplanted me with my weaker brother. Did you think now by showing me ‘Your Vision of Paradise’ that I would crumble at your feet begging to be let in? Is that all it would take? Then you are the fool not I!”

“I, Me, My, that is how it goes: the sound of the Brat’s Trumpet blows!”

“Who said that?”

“Louder than all the rest: in desperation to be the best!”

“Who is there?”

“Compete, defeat and eat: deplete, deplete, deplete…”

“Stop!”

“Too powerful, too cruel: ‘tis only thou who art the fool!”

“Stop, I command it!”

“Very well, then I will go: if thou art sure thou wish it so?”

Melkor’s eyes darted frantically, “Wait, who are you: Tulkas have you come?”

“Not Tulkas, not yet: he will come, do not fret!”

“Then who, Eru?”

“What a delightful rhyme: what a delightful time…”

“Manwë, show yourself!”

“Oh my love, there is naught to fear: for indeed, there is nobody here… Ha, ha, ha…”

“What mockery is this? Stop laughing!”

“Ha, ha, ha… Ha, ha, ha…”

“Get thee gone, I tell thee be gone!”

Melkor braced himself for another volley of laughter but no reply, “Then it is as I said: Phantoms!”

Melkor sat long in silence: no walls shook, no sounds of battle nor screams of anguish; no Orcs beating on slaves and no industry; no crashes, bangs nor thumps. Only silence… that, and unjust thought: Even now he contrived favourable outcomes to possible scenarios that might play out; if this happens a stab there, or maybe I can grasp a throat to rend, and so on. Oftentimes a new prospect would break his train of thought and he would sift it for plausibility, losing his place and having to begin again from the start; for indeed having naught else to do he began the reckoning of his years and the sum of his deeds. It is difficult to tell how and why he achieved this since he left behind no markings on parchment nor impression in rock; and all that is known of this is in the testimony of those who found him at last lost deep within his own thought and misshapen counsel.