When days were younger by Taylor17387

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Noon of Passions

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Noon of passions

The fortress of Utumno emerged from the earth as a pulsating tumor, and the two Valar standing before it hesitated in fear for a moment, before following Tulkas inside. The reeking mouth that served as entrance arch was unguarded, but in the antechamber they ran into a couple of doors as massive as the pillars of the world, and not even Tulkas’ punches were able to move them an inch.
Manwë touched his partner in the shoulder so he stopped beating the structure. At the end of the day, if they wanted the plan to go smoothly, they must feign good will and submission towards Melkor until the end.
It hadn’t been easy for the king of the Valar to convince his peers of the suitability of that plan. And least of all Tulkas, for whom all the problems in this life were solved by facing Melkor in a spectacularly destructive close-quarters fight. But from the very moment in which Oromë returned to Valinor with news that the Firstborn had awakened in Middle-earth, Manwë saw it clear: it was necessary to keep Melkor away from them, especially now that they were still young and defenseless. And it had to be done without violence, without cataclysmic struggles that opened pits in the ground and uprooted mountains.

For that reason, he, Oromë and Tulkas had traveled alone to the fortress, wading through the swamps, and avoiding the scalding vapours that sprang forth from cracks, in the lands around Utumno. They came apparently unarmed and with the express intention of paying their respects to Melkor and beg him for the Firstborn’s sake. Although of course, they hid a secret weapon.
Tulkas, however, didn’t understand it yet:

-This whole plan seems wrong to me, Manwë. -he protested, giving the doors a respite.- Our messengers told Melkor that we came to serve him, but actually we come for something else. Isn’t that lying?

-Well ... uh ... yeah, it's a bit like lying ... a little. –sighed Manwë, fearing what would come next.

-But isn’t lying bad? You always say that we must do good, Manwë, and fight against the evil of Arda. Then why do we lie and deceive!?

-Because sometimes, Tulkas, a lie, if it’s small, avoids more evils than those it causes.

-Well, but this lie seems to me rather a fat one. Look, what I will do is cry out for Melkor, tell him that I have come to grind his bones, and do exactly that when he leans out the door. Then we return to Valinor, and if he ever bothers the Elves again, then I will come back and give him another beating. That’s the best.

And Tulkas was already about to challenge Melkor at the top of his lungs, before a horrified Manwë and an incredulous Oromë, when the doors opened from the inside by a gear.
A small creature, ugly, clumsy and with long arms, peeped out the doorway, and looked at the majestic Valar with a frown. He didn’t seem very impressed, and soon began to yell something at them in an unintelligible jargon.
Oromë became interested in the newcomer at once.

-Such a curious being! I wonder to what race he belongs... -he smiled, fingering the creature for inspection.

The beast wasn’t amused, and he bit Oromë on a finger, though his small fangs only made the Vala laugh.

-Hey, pipsqueak! Do that again, and I'll sink you into the floor with a slap. -threatened Tulkas.

The creature lowered his ears and hid behind the half-opened door, groaning in his strange language.

-Is this the only herald that sends us my brother? We can’t even understand a word of what he says. Certainly, he has lost all sense of decorum and hospitality if he thinks that this is an appropriate welcome for the king of the Valar. –sighed Manwë, crestfallen.

The ugly creature must have read the disappointment on his face, and he replied with an obscene gesture.

-Now you’ve earned it for real, little rascal!! –roared Tulkas, approaching the trembling emissary.

But at that moment, the doors opened wide, and a blinding clarity burst into the antechamber. Between the creature and Tulkas stood a Balrog with crossed arms, almost as muscular as this Vala.

-The lord Melkor isn’t going to find funny that those who, supposedly, come to pledge him fealty, treat his Orcs like this. -he growled, narrowing his eyes.

-Orcs? I had never heard of those beings... -murmured Oromë, for whom nothing was now more interesting than this new kind of savage beast.- I would like to take him, nothing more.

The Balrog raised an eyebrow, and Manwë pushed Oromë aside, clearing his throat uncomfortably.

-Forgive my companion, uh...

-Gothmog!

-That’s it, Gothmog. We didn’t mean to offend the lord Melkor, and I assure you that we come with the humblest intentions and as supplicants. However, we are grateful that the Lord has deigned to send us a Maia who understands Valarin, since this creature is unintelligible.

-Yeah… The lord Melkor was the one who invented that language for them. They are his creation.

-His creation? But how…?

-Ye haven’t come here to argue about the Orcs, I understand. –interjected Gothmog, looking at them with suspicion.- So ye better follow me without further ado. I will bring you to the Lord.

The three Valar let themselves be guided through the gloomy corridors of Utumno.
The fortress seemed to breathe with a life of its own, and from its very walls emerged occasionally moans and laments. Peering into the darkness, one had sometimes the impression that the columns were made of repulsive tentacles, and that in the vaults opened the phosphorescent eyes of some nameless thing.
A black and fetid liquid poured from above onto the white hair of Manwë.
Restraining his disgust, the Vala looked at the ceiling, and thought he discerned some disfigured bodies hanging from chains. The Orc, who brought up the rear, burst into hysterical laughter.

-Those, Manwë, are the "unfortunate". -informed Gothmog, with a note of sarcasm in his voice.

Manwë shuddered at the thought of the horrors and abominations that his brother could have committed in all this time. The mere putrid look of that fortress was a testimony to the moral decay of Melkor.
Tulkas, for his part, had stopped in front of one of those pillars of flesh, disgusted and at the same time fascinated by its moist and viscous texture.

-Is this Melkor? -he asked, caressing the surface.

-In a sense ... –replied Gothmog.

Tulkas dipped a finger into the column, and the flesh yielded to his advance with a sigh.
The Vala had the impression that a lewd voice whispered his name in his ear, and immediately he withdrew his hand in fear, and returned to his companions.
Oromë had gotten away with it in the meantime, and had finally caught the Orc, who now squirmed in his arms trying to escape.

In the main hall, Melkor awaited them on the throne, flanked by his guard of Balrogs and some Orcs in the back rows.
He sat cross-legged on that mass of twisted tentacles, smiling and serene, and the shreds of darkness slid slowly over his body, at times hiding and at times uncovering fragments of his white skin. The image that he offered to the newcomers was at once ominous, evil and perversely sensual.
Tulkas felt very uncomfortable all of a sudden, and looked away toward the Balrogs.

-Brother of mine, how honoured I am that you have deigned to meet us, us the lesser Valar, in your splendid fortress! –announced Manwë, with a well-rehearsed bow.- I know that in the past I haven’t been always fair to you, I haven’t been always able to recognize your greatness and superiority. For all that I apologize, and I beg you to accept now our vassalage and hearken to our prayers.

Manwë was about to continue his speech, but Melkor cut him off sharply with a wave of his hand.

-Silence! I haven’t given you a more splendid welcome because ye aren’t welcome at all. You speak of vassalage, brother, but perchance you don’t think that I can read the hypocrisy in your words? Do you think seriously that pride blinds me to the point of not discerning the trap in your adulation?

Manwë looked askance at his companions, and only was able to stammer:

-I... don’t know... I didn’t say... it’s not what you think and...

-Ah! Is it not what I think? In that case, Tulkas will have no objection to take off his cuirass, isn’t it? Strip off, Tulkas! -smiled the rebellious Vala, with a gleam in his eyes difficult to interpret.

Tulkas hesitated for a few seconds, indecisive before the consequences of that act, but Manwë and Oromë told him with gestures to obey.
In front of the expectant eyes of Melkor, he stripped off his cuirass, revealing a hardened and weathered torso... and a thick chain wrapped around his shoulder. It was Angainor, the secret weapon of the Valar, not so secret anymore.

-Oooh! Then ye didn’t hide anything from me, right, Manwë? Ye came with the "sole desire to pledge me fealty". -laughed Melkor.- What a pathetic trick! I'm not surprised by you, brother, ever so diplomatic and hypocritical. But Tulkas...? You disappoint me! I believed you to be a force of nature, brutal and honest, not a schemer. In any case, you cannot hide anything from me. For me you're transparent, and I've seen that chain from the very moment you crossed my threshold. Don’t you understand, dear Tulkas, that a sinister bond unites us even before the Music?

These words pierced the ears of Tulkas like sharpened stakes of ice. Again he looked around for his companions, hoping that they considered the scene to be over and ordered him to attack. But still the signal didn’t come.

-It's true, Melkor, we have hidden that chain from you. Though we weren’t saving it for you, but only as defense against a possible monster that came in our path before reaching Utumno. –explained Oromë, trying to sound convincing.- We would have never expected that a simple chain could restrain the supreme power of Arda.

-Of course not!! Still, ye have offended me, and ye must pay dearly for your audacity. Now ye will be my slaves until the end of days! Every second of your lives ye will spend in satisfying all my desires, and each of those seconds ye will curse bitterly for the suffering that it will bring you. Balrogs, hold fast those two! Gothmog, chain Tulkas with his own weapon!

The Valar endured patiently to be subjected. And Tulkas, still with clenched fists and grinding his teeth, allowed Gothmog to surround him with Angainor, and tighten the chain until almost sticking it into his flesh.
Melkor felt confident; in that chain he had recognized the hand of Aulë, and he knew it was unbreakable. With Tulkas thus neutralized, he had nothing to fear from the other two.
The Balrog handed to his master one end of the chain, and he yanked it, bringing Tulkas down on his knees before the throne.

-Now, insolent dog, you must learn what true submission is. Kiss my foot! -and Melkor extended his bare foot toward him.

Tulkas watched hesitant the pearly and translucent skin, each of the phalanges that moved beneath it, not knowing exactly what to do. How should one give a kiss? He had never kissed anyone, and wasn’t sure he had ever seen anyone do so. One thing was clear at least: it was done with the mouth. Leaning therefore over Melkor’s foot, he pressed his lips on it... and right after, he ran his tongue across one of the swollen veins in his instep.
Apparently, he was right with the kiss, since Melkor seemed very pleased:

-Oh, Tulkas, what a surprise! I didn’t know you were so... "experienced" on these issues. I think that having you as slave will be very interesting. I want more! -and pulling again from the chain, he forced Tulkas to bow his head to not strangle himself, and focus again on the foot.

The Vala licked the instep, the sole, the ankle bone, the tendons, placed each of the toes in his mouth. And even when he heard the Orcs laughing in the background, surprisingly, he wasn’t angry at all. On the contrary, the velvety feel of that skin against his lips felt very soothing.
Above his head, he heard Melkor letting out a moan, that the walls replicated. Tulkas couldn’t look up to see him, but he had the impression that his right hand no longer rested on the throne, but between his legs.

-Mmm, delicious! -sighed the rebellious Vala, with half-closed eyes.- Later, perhaps, I will require you in my chambers, Tulkas. But step aside. Manwë should also pay me homage.

With a yank, he made Tulkas fall to one side, and Manwë approached the throne after exchanging indecisive glances with Oromë. The king of the Valar was about to lean on the other foot, when Melkor stopped him.

-No, brother, no! How could you think that I would ask you something as menial as crouching at my feet? Enemy or not, you're my brother, however, and therefore of the royalty of Arda. No, dear Manwë, you're going to kiss me a little higher, as befits your higher rank.

And licking his lips lasciviously, Melkor spread his legs, to show his brother where he wanted to be kissed exactly. The king of the Valar grew pale, his eyes open wide, and Oromë looked away. Even if all that was somehow alien to their nature, it wasn’t so much that they couldn’t understand the implications of such an act.
There arose among the shreds of shadow, a swollen, throbbing, red and wet member. And seeing this picture, Tulkas couldn’t restrain himself any longer. He didn’t know what awoke so much fury inside him: the fact that Melkor had ordered that to Manwe, to his Lord, or the fact that he had ordered that to Manwë, instead of him, or the mere view of that member, so obscene, so inviting. The fact was that Tulkas needed to pounce on Melkor, and he needed to do it NOW, without waiting for any signal.

With a roar that shook the foundations of Utumno, Tulkas ripped the chain from his body as if it was made of fabric.
Then Melkor understood his terrible error: yes, the chain was the work of Aulë and it was unbreakable, but it had been created for him, only for him, and its power had restrained Tulkas only in appearance. The rebel Vala shrunk on his throne, yelling angrily:

-Traitors, treacherous dogs!! Balrogs, Orcs, Gothmog, stop them! Stop them, protect your Lord!!

But none of his servants came to his succour. Manwë had unleashed all his power at once, and a terrible hurricane swept the Balrogs, extinguishing their flame. Meanwhile, Oromë terrified the Orcs, or hunted them with his bare hands and left them unconscious without difficulty. Melkor was alone, alone in front of his nemesis Tulkas.
Although that was just for a moment, because before he could react, he was no longer in front of him, but struggling beneath him. To his surprise, the greaves and armguards of the wrestler opened then, falling to the ground: they were actually a pair of manacles and four shackles. Tulkas extended his enemy's arms above his head and placed a manacle in each wrist. Then he spread his legs and did the same with the shackles and his ankles.
As they closed, the metal of each of them turned red and glowed with a rune of great power. And when Melkor tried to disembody or change his form to flee, he discovered that he couldn’t anymore. He had been reduced to a mere body of flesh and bone, and without his powers he realized then how vulnerable and naked he was.

-What is this, what have ye done to me, what are ye going to do with me!? Gothmog, come here, release me!

-I'm afraid that Gothmog is out of action for now. –replied Manwë, entering the prisoner's field of vision.- Now you know the manacles Vorotemnar and the shackles Ilterendi, wrought by Aulë with the magical metal tilkal. I would have preferred not to reach these extremes with you, brother, but your attitude has driven us to it.

Melkor stirred in panic and anger, but the chain Angainor wrapped itself around his limbs and his neck, immobilizing him completely.
Upon finishing, Tulkas stood up and looked at his work. The evil Vala pierced him with sunken eyes, filled with hatred, and every time he took in a breath, the metallic links dug into his flesh, leaving marks here and there: on his shoulder, on his side, on his neck, next to his nipple…
Tulkas was surprised upon realizing that seeing him thus, oppressed, immobile and defenseless, seemed to him incredibly... alluring.

Shortly thereafter, the three Valar left Utumno the way they had come, with Tulkas in the rear, half-dragging a cursing and vociferous Melkor. Manwë, however, soon discovered that his brother wasn’t the only prisoner that accompanied them:

-Oromë, what are you doing with that creature in your arms?!

The hunter of the Valar looked at the Orc hanging about his neck, the same one that had opened the door for them, and who now clung to him between terrified and pleased.

-I'm taking him to Valinor. I want to know more about these beings, and besides, look at these long arms! He would be an excellent archer.

-No, no, no, absolutely not! You are not going to take that evil and corrupt creature to the Undying Lands, so that the sanctity of Valinor may be defiled by his presence. That won’t happen as long as I have my throne in Taniquetil! –snapped Manwë.

Melkor laughed madly:

-Ah, brother, you fear the corruption of a single Orc and yet you bring me, their origin and creator, into the heart of your kingdom! You don’t know the huge mistake you’re making. -but a yank of his chain silenced him.

Resigned, Oromë left his new pet on the ground, at the gates of Utumno. Anyway, he could see him again when he came back with reinforcements to destroy the fortress.
In this way, the Valar departed back to Valinor, while the abandoned Orc dismissed them with yells, which were probably insults.

The trial of Melkor didn’t take long to start, and on the hill of Ezellohar, under the mingled light of the Trees, the Valar took their place in the Ring of Judgment. The accused, on the ground facing them, and still chained, was closely guarded by Tulkas, and at a safe distance from the Ring, some curious Maiar had crowded together to hear the sentence.

-Look at him there, so impudent, so impenitent! Not even laden with chains leaves him that expression of arrogance. –snarled Eonwë, more to himself than to his companion. -If I had my way, I would destroy him completely, I would tear off that lascivious form with which he covers himself, and as a naked spirit he would be impotent forever.

Mairon raised an eyebrow in a sneer:

-That's a very harsh sentence for someone who hasn’t personally harmed you.  Am I to be glad that it’s not you who occupy the seat of Mandos?

-Very funny, Mairon. Laugh if you want! But even if that evil one has done nothing to me, Arda however is covered with the scars of his works. And who knows to what torments he will have subjected the Firstborn before the assault on Utumno!

-That is true, but we must ask ourselves, my dear Eönwë, who is to blame for such a situation. If Melkor was already occupying Middle-earth, wasn’t then Eru's responsibility to awaken his Children in a safer place? And isn’t this assault against Utumno, ultimately and as last resort, the consequence of a miscalculation of our eternal and infallible, almighty Father?

Eonwë's eyes nearly popped out as he heard this, alongside Mairon's perfidious grin.

-I hope you're joking ...

Mairon laughed:

-But of course. You know that I always talk jokingly, even if I always say serious things.

Eönwë shook his head and mumbled something through his teeth, focusing his attention on the trial again.
His relationship with Mairon, though formally friendly, had become more and more tense over time. And Mairon had realized that it was never more tense than when Melian was around. The two Maiar could be alone perfectly. But as soon as the maiden of Vána appeared and had a mere affectionate gesture with Mairon, something as simple as a kiss on the cheek, a caress, or placing a hand on his shoulder, Eönwë became annoyed and evasive, and immediately found excuses for leaving. Jealousy?
The cavernous voice of Mandos drew Mairon from his thoughts. At that moment, the Judge of the Valar pronounced his sentence solemnly: three ages of confinement in his halls. Tulkas protested at once. Hadn’t he been, after all, the one who had captured the enemy, who had knocked him down with his blows and reduced him to submission? And now what, should he just conform and surrender his prisoner? Deliver him to that sinister Vala who had done nothing at all?
Some of the attendants raised their voices too, in defense of Tulkas, and soon a disorderly clamor spread through the Ring of Judgment. Mandos then raised his arms, and the crowd fell silent:

-So it be. Since Tulkas is not satisfied with my sentence, and considers himself qualified and entitled to custody the prisoner, he will take charge of his evolution, for better or for worse, after the three ages of his imprisonment have passed. Melkor will be sent to Tulkas's house and will serve him as the vilest slave. Is this agreement acceptable, Tulkas? Remember, this is your last chance to back out.

Tulkas had been left a bit confused upon hearing this decision.
He looked at Mandos, looked at the attendants, looked at Melkor chained at his feet, who returned his gaze with a wicked smile. Finally, he shrugged and accepted the agreement. And perhaps it was his imagination, but he had the impression that Mandos pierced him with eyes as cold as ice stakes.

Thus began the three ages of the captivity of Melkor. The prisoner was taken immediately to Mandos, and there thrown to the floor of a room, empty and white like the dreams of a comatose.
All this time, the rebel Vala had not stopped cursing and insulting his captor, fighting in vain against the chain and the shackles that restrained him. He only fell silent when he discovered that Mandos was stripping him of the strings of darkness that covered his nakedness.

-No darkness has room in these halls. This is a place of punishment, true, but also of purification and return. -explained the Judge, removing the last strand of darkness.

Melkor half smiled with sarcasm.

-That, or you just wanted to see my backside… Well, if that's how things are going to be, you can start by taking care of this. -he snapped, spreading his legs before him.

But as sole answer, he received a black cloth thrown to his face.

-Today is not your lucky day, Melkor. Maybe in another life, in another universe. For the moment, you can start putting on this robe: a humble and discreet dress of servant, according to your new condition.

-I won’t rub my skin with these disgusting rags! I am the king of Arda!! –roared Melkor, sending sparks through his eyes.

-Well, then don’t do it and stay naked. But soon you will discover that I am a cold Vala, and my halls are cold, and being trapped in a body of flesh and blood as you are, carries certain disadvantages. -and as he said this, the temperature of the prison seemed to fall several degrees.

A shiver ran down Melkor's spine and he felt his skin bristle, and some parts of his body grew in size and others shrank instead. Muttering between teeth, the rebellious Vala had no choice but to cover himself with the tattered robe.

-I hope that Tulkas will be more fun than you! Because as far as I see, these three ages are going to seem very long for me.

-You're not the only one for whom they’ll seem long, Melkor. You’re not the only one. –sighed Mandos, and turning around, he abandoned the room and left him alone.

During those early days when Melkor remained hidden from the eyes of the world, Tulkas felt very restless, even irritable. He often wandered around the silent walls of Mandos, hoping to hear something, some curse from his enemy, anything. But he was only received by the breaking of the waves against the cliffs. Once in a time he had even felt the unspeakable desire that his enemy should break his magic shackles and escape. Because then he would be there, ready to fight once more, to pursue him to the ends of Eä if necessary. And he would feel useful again.
Of course, these thoughts filled him with guilt later. And they weren’t the only ones he had about Melkor.
In his spare time (which was abundant now), and especially if he had drunk some liquor, he surprised himself recalling the scene in front of Utumno's throne. How he had kissed the foot of his enemy, and what had happened immediately after. And again, the image of Melkor impaled on a stake.
Then, once more, fury and ardour filled him, the same violent feeling that had forced him to pounce on him on the throne. Sometimes Tulkas needed to take long walks through the woods, or to submerge himself in the frozen waters of a lake to calm down.

On one occasion when he was strolling with Yavanna through her gardens, he discovered something that attracted his attention.
Two birds had settled in front of them, one of bright colours and somehow bigger, and the other brown, with a less attractive plumage. The coloured bird performed a strange dance around its companion, chased it for a while, and finally, when the brown bird seemed to tire of the game, let the other bird climb upon it. The coloured bird fluttered for a few moments, then came down. Both ended up grooming their plumage.

-What are they doing? –asked Tulkas, confused.

-They are mating: the male mounts the female and impregnates her. In this way, animals have offspring which is similar to them, and although they die as individuals, they are perpetuated as a species. Here, in the Undying Lands, all animals and plants are immortal, and in theory they wouldn’t need to reproduce. However, this is an instinct so powerful, so rooted in their nature, that even here they continue to carry it out. Look, Tulkas, each living being seeks above all its own benefit. Except in this case. Conceiving children is the ultimate sacrifice, because from now on, these beings will stop worrying about themselves and all their efforts will be for the benefit of their offspring. –explained Yavanna, and then, with a slightly melancholic smile, she added:- I sometimes wonder... I wonder if my creatures began to reproduce because they died, or instead they die because they reproduce. I don’t remember how it happened.

Tulkas caressed his beard, thoughtfully.

-I don’t know much about death, other than it happens in Middle-earth, although I have sometimes accompanied Oromë in his hunts… Hunts of corrupt beasts, of course! –he quickly rectified, upon noticing a flash in Yavanna’s eyes.- And of course, I know nothing about this “mating”, although I feel that it hides a great truth, something very deep and important. Tell me Yavanna, this... this only happens between a male and a female? I mean... what if they were two males? -Tukas blushed visibly, though he didn’t understand why.

-Oh, of course it happens sometimes! It’s not as common, but certainly not uncommon either, especially when there are no females available. Of course in that case there is no offspring.

-And is that something... something evil? That is, two males together...

Tulkas had chosen the wrong words, for the flash he had seen a moment ago, announcing a storm, became an explosion:

-For the last time, NO, none of my creatures are evil! Nothing they do is evil! What do I have to do to get that idea out of your minds? Nobody judges the other Valar! No one asks Aulë if his mountains are evil! And his dwarves, are they evil, eh? Because for me some creatures that cut down trees with axes seem evil! But no one talks about that, no, and on top of that I have to endure that Eru gave him his approval. Were not for my ents, I don’t know what I would do...

Seeing that being close to Yavanna could be dangerous at that time, Tulkas decided to move away little by little. The Valie had become especially susceptible to these subjects, and especially now that the dwarves’ awakening approached. The cries of her argument with Aulë, when she learned what he had made, still reverberated in the caverns and bowels of the earth. Some would call it "echo."
Tulkas, however, had discovered something fundamental in that stroll, and he perceived that it had much to do with his restlessness, his rage, and his yearning. But something was still missing. It was as if the scene with the two birds was nothing more than an impoverished and anodyne version of something much more beautiful. It didn’t move him, it was too vulgar, too mechanical; the brown bird, for example, hardly seemed to have noticed what happened.

He found a much more definitive answer, not in the gardens of Yavanna, but in those of Lórien.
To tell the truth, he had ventured into that gloomy forest almost without realizing it, absorbed in his thoughts, and when he came back to his senses he couldn’t tell where he was. The paths seemed to blur and change as in a dream, crepuscular lights confused shapes, and the atmosphere was so sweet and heavy ...
Suddenly, behind some thick bushes, he discovered a clearing. In the center stood the well called Silindrin, where at that time Silmo, a Maia servant of Lórien, poured out the silver dew of Telperion. Tulkas watched him in silence for a while, without revealing his presence, and shortly thereafter, Lórien appeared in the clearing, approached his servant from behind, and gently grabbed his shoulders.
Silmo turned around with a timid smile.

-I have finished pouring the dew, my lord.

-I can see that. Have you missed me all this time?

-Thou knowest I have…

And then, before the astonished eyes of Tulkas, Lórien leaned over his servant, who was quite shorter than him, and kissed him on the mouth. Silmo sighed, and with a skillful maneuver, he opened the clasp that held his master's robe, and it fell to the ground. With the same adoration with which Tulkas had explored the foot of Melkor, Silmo explored the body of Lórien with his mouth, and finally he introduced his member into it. Tulkas swallowed as a muffled sound escaped Lórien's lips. Now his member was different; it had the same appearance as that of Melkor when he spread his legs on the throne. And Tulkas couldn’t stop staring at it, as if hypnotized.
Lórien's gasps had become faster and choked, and caressing the hair of the Maia, he pushed his head away from himself, made him turn around, and fall on all fours on the grass. As he lifted his tunic, he revealed a slender, elastic body, masculine but much less shaped than his own. His skin seemed silvery, or perhaps it was an effect of the light that emanated from the well, or of the drops of dew that evaporated on its velvety surface. Silmo rubbed his member rhythmically, eager and impatient.
Then his master, kissing his neck, mounted him from behind and entered the other body, pulling a moan from him. That was similar to what Tulkas saw in Yavanna's gardens. But at the same time, it was totally different. There it was desire, passions, sweat, moaning, struggle, and pleasure, exquisite pleasure, as could be read on the faces of the two Ainur.
And something stirred in the bowels of Tulkas, and he felt heat and fury, the wish to smash something, to beat Melkor. But he also knew, in some uncertain way, that he must remain hidden. That unlike the two birds mating, there was something secret in that act, something sacred, something... dangerous?

When they finished, the two Ainur lay languidly on the grass, Silmo's head resting on his master's lap. The violent passion they showed a moment ago, had suddenly transformed into sweet and serene calm, while their breathing adjusted.

-You can get out of your hiding place already, Tulkas. –said Lórien suddenly, running his finger indifferently down the Maia's hip.

The heart of the alluded one turned. And full of shame, he emerged from the bushes. He was sure that his face was red at the moment, although hopefully the intermingled light floating in the atmosphere would disguise this.

-If you wanted to participate, you had just to ask. -continued the Vala of Dreams, with a wry smile. Silmo chuckled.

-I'm sorry, I ... I've gotten lost.

-Of course! And in more ways than one, my dear Tulkas.

Ignoring these puzzling words, the intruder sat in the clearing next to the other two.

-Lórien, I have some important doubts, and I think you could help me. Can we talk in private?

-As you like. -and with a signal, he motioned Silmo to stand up.

-We’ll see us later, my lord. I'll have some surprise prepared for thee... -whispered the Maia before leaving, giving him a slight bite on the earlobe.

-This lad is going to do away with the few energies I have left! –laughed Lórien, following the naked body of his servant as he disappeared into the thicket.- He isn’t very intelligent, but he’s beautiful. And beauty is more valuable than wisdom, because it’s more ephemeral. -the Vala then cut a white flower that hanged from a tree, and handed it to Tulkas to smell it; its fragrance filled him with a delicious drowsiness.- Like this flower, for example: as soon as you cut it, it begins to wither, even here in Aman. And nonetheless, only cutting it, only profaning its virginity, it exhales its scent and gives us the best of itself. So it is with some people... But wait a moment. If we are going to speak, I’d prefer that your gaze didn’t divert from my eyes so often...

Lórien pulled his robe over his shoulders and closed it on his lap, though Tulkas noticed that he left on view a nipple and some silver hair between his legs. Maybe he did so on purpose, but Tulkas tried to ignore it.

-How did you learn to do it?

-Do what?

-To do it... That ... That which you did with Silmo.

-Oh, that! It’s natural that I know how to do it, since I am the Lord of Dreams and Desires. It’s something I have often seen in the dreams of the Children of Eru. Especially in those of the Secondborn. They are the ones that fascinate me the most, although I feel they’ll still take a long time to wake up. But you see, I’m the brother of Mandos, and as such I’m given the knowledge of some things of the future, although of course to a much lesser extent. I know their minds well, however. Elves are... how would I say, a race of extremes. They are able to experience the most sublime of joys and the most desperate of sadness. But I'm not interested in extremes. I'm not interested in black and white, but in grays. Like the blending of lights, like the dew of Telperion in my garden. I walk in the twilight. And Tulkas, the mingling of lights in the hearts of men is so perfect and fascinating... The most beautiful feelings and the most evil wickedness can nest in the soul of the same man, with no apparent contradiction. It was in those dreams, in those twilight desires, that I learned to make love as you have seen it before. It’s no longer innocent, it’s no longer merely necessary. That's why it's exciting, that's why... one needs to be cautious. -Lórien's eyes gave off a disturbing gleam as he said this.

-Why cautious? I'm not afraid of anything. I have fought with monsters and beasts, I have defeated Melkor several times. I want to try this, I want to discover it.

-Be careful, Tulkas. Knowledge is often accompanied by pain. You may experience the most delightful ecstasy, only to sink into the misery of jealousy the next moment. Are you sure you want to give up your simple and innocent pleasures for this?

-Yes, I want everything, all the experiences, all the sensations that this life and this body can offer me! Caution is for the faint-hearted, I am brave, I am strong!

-And muscular... I'm sure Silmo would be delighted to know you more “in depth”. Do you want me to lend him to you?

But seeing the malicious grin dancing on Lórien's lips, Tulkas's spirits faded a little.

-No, that's not exactly what I'm looking for. Silmo is too young.

-Too young? -replied Lórien, raising his eyebrows.- He’s older than the world, like all the Ainur.

-Yes, I know, but... how can I explain it? He seems too young, too small and fragile. Like a… Like a…

-Like a boy?

-Yes, that… I think. It doesn’t seem appropriate. There’s something in that picture that isn’t right. And I think you shouldn’t penetrate him under that form.

-Oh no? However, there will be moments in the history of the Secondborn that this kind of love will be regarded as the most exalted and pure of all. And some of the most beautiful verses in the world will be written to exalt it.

-Well, it seems to me that you look too closely at certain parts of the future. –said Tulkas, folding his arms.

Lórien laughed heartily. But at once he became serious, and approaching his interlocutor he whispered:

-Then there's only me left. What do you say? -and his robe opened, revealing his delicate nakedness again.

Tulkas barely succeeded in stammering a few words, while Lórien approached him like a lurking cat. The wrestler was left half reclined on his elbows, admiring the body of the other Vala, sitting astride his lap. He felt the violent impulse to touch that body, to make it his own, to penetrate it as it had penetrated another before. But it was this last image what stopped him: barely half an hour earlier, that same Vala had been lying with another, and shortly after doing it with him, he would be with another once more. And Tulkas found hard to accept this. For in spite of everything, he continued to prefer white and black; grays confused him.
So he moved away gently from Lórien.

-Oh? I imagine that it’s not an effeminate and decadent Vala what you want either.

-You are very beautiful, Lórien, but you can’t give me what I seek. Please do not be angry.

-I’m not. -he smiled. Tulkas stood up to leave, and Lórien with him.- But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.

-Of course, thanks for everything.

Tulkas hadn’t been able to satisfy his desire, certainly. But now he was one step closer to understanding what he really wanted. And a few days later an idea lit up in his mind: wasn’t he married to Nessa? If there was anyone in the world with whom he should experience such pleasures, this was his wife Nessa. It seemed adequate, it seemed very logical.
Thus Tulkas left his house when Telperion shone with greater force, and ran restlessly through the plains, until reaching the forest which his wife frequented at that hour.
He found her dancing naked among the birches. Her dark body and black hair contrasted sharply with the pale trunks. Tulkas watched her in silence for a few moments: her limbs were thin, but firm and fibrous, and somehow, though she had a definitely feminine body, she seemed less effeminate than Lórien. Curious.
Nessa had seen him, but didn’t greet him or say anything. She only smiled at him with narrowed eyes, for a moment, until her hair covered her face in the midst of the incessant dance. Tulkas cleared his throat:

-Nessa, I've been thinking... I've been thinking that... well, you're my wife. So I think you should have sex with me. It's something I want to try, and you have that duty... right?

Nessa stopped in her tracks, and blinked a couple of times, revealing no emotion. At last she burst out laughing:

-You're very direct, and I like that, husband. However, I cannot give you what you ask. -and turning serious again, she added:- I am the mother of many things, things that hide in the thicket and lurke with glowing eyes, things that whisper from solitary trees, things on the shores of shadowy rivers and things that live under the damp earth. I am the mother of all of them. But I will always be a virgin, just like the woods where I dance. For I am too wild to be tamed.

Tulkas frowned, but it took him a moment to assimilate these words and give an answer:

-But we're married! As I understand it, marriage works so, and the wife has a duty to please her husband. That I think I heard, not that I know a lot, but it must be thus. And even if it wasn’t, it’s what I want and I'm going to get it!

Nessa smiled slightly, not moving from her place.

-Well, since you are so insistent, this is what we will do: pursue me through this forest, and if you can catch me, I will submit to you. What do you think?

-Seems fair. –agreed Tulkas, getting ready for the hunt.

Then Nessa turned into a white deer, and disappeared like lightning between the birch trunks. Tulkas laughed; that couldn’t be more difficult than hunting with Oromë.
However, he soon realized that he was wrong.
No matter how much he ran, Nessa always seemed to take advantage. If he thought he had seen the white legs of the doe behind a bush, he found that they were but the branches of a birch. If he heard the creaking of footsteps to his left and ran there, the doe leapt several yards to his right. Branches and thorns scratched his arms as he lunged through the trees, leaves tangled in his hair and beard, and the white deer, always visible as a vague mirage, was always equally unattainable.
Defeated, Tulkas finally stood in the middle of a clearing, trying to catch his breath. And from afar came Nessa's laughter, and these words:

-Dear husband, the hunt is more important than the prey.

The waxing and waning of the two Trees followed unperturbed, as it had always done, and in the course of days many changes took place in Aman. The Elves were called to the Undying Lands, following an agreement between Manwë and the other Valar. At no time was Eru consulted to make this decision; Manwë supposed that he wouldn’t object. Mandos didn’t say anything about it.
The first emissaries of the Elves arrived and returned with their clans, to tell them of the wonders they had witnessed and of the splendour of the Valar. Nevertheless, many Elves didn’t heed the call and turned to the darkness of Middle-earth.
There was a great stir when the first two clans, the Vanyar and the Noldor, finally established themselves among the gods. Everyone wanted to meet the newcomers, discover their customs, learn their language, admire their beauty and their bodies, so similar to those of the Ainur, but so fragile at the same time.
Tulkas was so excited by the novelty, that he soon forgot all about his previous obsessions. Although he soon realized that the newcomers weren’t appropriate partners for wrestling. And a few bruised Elves later, Manwë strictly forbade him to train with them.
The rumour of the Elves’ arrival reached even the empty halls of Mandos, and in his solitude, Melkor tasted the bitter swallow of envy.

For his part, Mairon often argued with Eönwë about which of the clans was the best. The herald maintained that the Vanyar, and of course, Mairon preferred the ingenious and intellectual Noldor, so close to his lord Aulë, over those "effeminate poets”, as he called the Vanyar.
In these discussions, Melian used to withdraw and look silently eastward across the ocean. There the third of the clans, the Teleri, still waited, and at the thought of them filled her with a strange melancholy.

-What has become of them, the beautiful Elves of silver hair? –sighed the Maia one day.- I imagine them often under the light of the stars, lost in the dark, more beautiful under the twilight than those that have already seen the light of the Trees. I have heard that their king has gone astray and they don’t find him. I saw him when he came as an emissary to Valinor; our gazes crossed for a moment and I felt as if something had pierced my heart. I can’t forget those gray eyes.

Melian turned to her companions and sat down on the grass beside them.

-How can you praise the beauty of those Elves in the presence of the most handsome Maiar of Aman? You'll make me jealous. -joked Eönwë.

Melian laughed, regaining her usual good mood.

-You're right, I should not forget my boys. And that reminds me one thing... Mairon, have you ever seen how Elves kiss their wives?

The aforementioned turned his attention away from the stone he was carving, and raised an eyebrow.

-In my opinion, it’s an uncomfortable and impractical greeting.

-I wouldn’t expect anything else from you! But you always boast of having an open and inquisitive mind, willing to learn new things. Aren’t you curious to know what it feels like to kiss someone? -Melian blinked with mocking coquetry.

-What do you want? That I kiss you? Well, that's fine, if that's what it gets to stop you both saying silly things... -and Mairon leaned over her, joining their lips in the same way he had seen the Elves do.

A clean and technically perfect kiss, he thought. Melian clapped, exultant. Although Eönwë's frown revealed his disapproval.

-I'd better go. I don’t want to interfere with your “little games”. –mumbled the herald, standing up.

But Melian tugged at his arm and forced him to sit down again.

-Don’t be dumb, I'll kiss you too! -and as she said, she did at the moment, even though it was a shorter kiss.- This is so fun ...! Now it's your turn to kiss each other. Come on!

Both Mairon and Eönwë exchanged glances, eyes wide, and the latter flushed visibly.

-I... I won’t do that, Melian! -stammered the herald.

-What, are you afraid I'm going to bite you? -grinned Mairon, showing a fang with sarcasm.

-Well, if Eönwë doesn’t dare to kiss Mairon, it's my turn to kiss him again.

And Melian was already leaning over the Maia again, when Eönwë, furious and humiliated, came forward and joined his lips with Mairon's. The smith was surprised by the anger contained in that kiss, so abrupt, almost painful. When they separated, Eönwë's face was somber, and without a word he rose and left.
Mairon touched his lip, where the kiss of the herald had left a burning mark.
After this, he and Melian decided not to bring up the subject again, at least not in the presence of Eönwë. In any case, the maiden would soon have more interesting things to attend to, when signs of the third clan were finally seen on the shores of Aman.
Melian moved anxiously to the new island of Tol Eressëa to be one of the first to receive the Teleri. How great was her disappointment upon discovering that king Elwë wasn’t among them!
Ossë explained to her that the king was still lost in Middle-earth, perhaps under the spell of an evil spirit. And neither he nor that part of his people that was faithful to him, had high hopes of ever reaching Valinor.
After learning this news, Melian reclused herself for a time, stricken with inexplicable sadness, and none of her friends saw her in several days.

Nevertheless, the remaining years of the chaining of Melkor, were a peaceful idyll for almost all the inhabitants of Aman. And not least for Tulkas, who later would remember this time with special happiness.
But this idyll came to an end for the Vala a beautiful day in which no one would have suspected any calamity. Laurelin shone in all its splendour, when someone knocked on his door. When he opened it, Tulkas bumped into two figures dressed in black. And their sinister appearance seemed out of place under the dew that gilded the earth:

-Greetings, Tulkas. As you see, a promise made is a debt unpaid, and I always pay mine. -said the cold voice of Mandos.

And the Judge made the chain clink in his hands, the end of which closed around the neck of his prisoner. Melkor looked at him from the depths of sunken eyes, and his half-smile made Tulkas shudder.

-Humm! What is all this about?

-What do you mean? You know very well, dear Tulkas. Three ages ago, in the Ring of Judgment, you questioned my right to guard Melkor. You said that he was your prisoner, since you had captured him, and it was agreed that he would be delivered to you as a servant at the end of his sentence. Well, today that sentence ends, and therefore I bring Melkor to you. You’re not regretting it, right? -and he arched an eyebrow sarcastically.

Tulkas's heart had just turned. Not that he regretted it, it wasn’t exactly that. But to have his old enemy now in front of him, so close that he could touch him, after having been hidden so long, so long that he almost seemed to never have existed... Anyway, at least he found it implausible.
Mandos hadn’t waited for his answer, and was already removing the chain Angainor from his prisoner. The magic shackles, however, would remain on his wrists and ankles.

-One moment, one moment, Mandos! Are you going to remove the chain? Are you sure this is a good idea?

-Come on, Tulkas, I didn’t think you were so pusillanimous! How will he serve you if you keep him chained? In addition, Melkor has shown an exemplary behaviour during these three ages in my prison. Isn’t that true, Melkor? -and the Judge stroked his hair mockingly.

-Yes. Touch me again, Mandos, and I'll bite your fingers off. –replied Melkor with a charming smile.

-Don't take him wrong, today he’s somewhat irritable. Anyway, Tulkas, you are left responsible and in charge of the enemy of Arda. I hope no one has to regret your decision someday. Specially you. -and with these words, which fell upon Tulkas like a tombstone, Mandos closed the door and left him face to face with his enemy.

Melkor simply looked at Tulkas with contempt, and with his head held high, he passed as if he was already master and owner of the house. He went through each of the rooms, inspecting everything with an air of displeasure, while Tulkas followed without knowing what to do.

-Mph! What an ugly house! –muttered the rebel Vala, not caring at all whether the comment offended his new lord or not.- Look at these walls, look at these columns! So cold and static, undoubtedly the work of that mediocre blacksmith Aulë. Anyone who can’t feel Arda's throbbing as he draws his ear to a wall, or hear the wail of the damned trapped in a living column, doesn’t know the truth of this world. He locks himself in his pathetic box of bricks, fearful of that truth. Cowardly and conformist as a child.

Melkor turned to Tulkas, and the wrestler felt intimidated even in his own house. For a few moments, they both looked at each other in silence, an eternal, uncomfortable silence. At last Melkor cleared his throat:

-Well, what are we supposed to do now?

Tulkas shrugged.

-I don’t know... You're my servant so... do servant things. -Melkor opened his eyes in disbelief, and Tulkas looked around the room, desperately searching for something to get out of trouble.

Nothing around him was very clean, but neither was anything too dirty. At last, his eyes fell on an earthen jug on top of a nearby table. It had some dust.

-Look ... Look at this jug, for example. I want you to clean it.

-Which? This one? -and Melkor smacked it to the floor, making it a thousand pieces.

Tulkas blinked several times, not believing that gesture of gratuitous evil, and his fists clenched.

-But what have you done!? Pick it up right now!

As the only answer, Melkor overturned the entire table, throwing in the air everything on it. That was too much for Tulkas. His face turned deep read, each tendon in his arms went into tension, and the next second he was on top of Melkor, punching him.

-I'm going to teach you to disobey me!! Now you are my servant and you will behave as such!

-The lord of Arda is no one's servant, nor will he ever be! –replied Melkor among struggles.

Despite the shackles that constrained much of his power, the evil Vala was still a considerable opponent. And when Tulkas managed to subdue him and hold his wrists against the ground, he noticed the destruction that had caused the fight. Instead of a simple broken jug, the floor was now full of broken glass, the chairs upside down, and some tapestries torn. But Tulkas was no longer angry. It had been a long time since he'd felt as alive as he felt now, his breathing ragged and his forehead covered with sweat. While his mortal enemy, beneath, continued to curse and squirm.
Without warning, Tulkas burst out laughing in a good mood.

-You are crazy, Tulkas, crazy! –snapped Melkor, and kicking him he pushed him aside, though the other didn’t stop laughing.

No one put the scattered furniture back in place, nor collected the glass and broken objects. For a long time, that room remained a battlefield, but since Tulkas didn’t receive many visitors, he hoped that no one would discover it. Or maybe he hoped it would clean itself alone. Definitely, he had already lost all hope that Melkor did it, and he knew he could never count on his obedience. At best, he aspired that his new "servant" wouldn’t burst into anger again and throw down the whole house.
And yet, when he had this fully assumed already, it was when Melkor gave him a surprise.
One day, some mysterious noises coming from the destroyed room alerted him. And when he entered it, he bumped into a scene of impeccable order and cleanliness. Everything was back in place, there were no debris or rubble on the floors, and from the center of the room, Melkor smirked.
Tulkas was speechless, moving toward him as he checked the perfection around him.

-You ... You ... have you done this? But why!? I didn’t even remember this.

Then Melkor's icy hand closed around his wrist, and a seductive but terrible voice whispered to him:

-Do you know why, dear Tulkas? Because you didn’t expect it. And I don’t want you to get too comfortable, I don’t want you to think I'm predictable, to think that you can understand me and control me. Keep this always in your mind: You won’t ever know what my next move will be, you won’t ever be safe with me.

And the rebel Vala walked away. As he passed, his hair brushed Tulkas's face, and he perceived a tempting scent in it.
A shiver ran down his spine.

Of what Melkor had said, one thing at least was true: that Tulkas would never know what he’d find when he returned home. Sometimes he encountered a scene of destruction and fire in his own bedchamber, sometimes neat floors and furniture, or even with the delicacies he had grown used to on the table. Although Melkor sometimes didn’t do any of these things, or he did them all at the same time, and offered him a delicious roast while the kitchen was consumed in flames. Always with a sinister smile on his face.
At first Tulkas was enraged, but soon he found that beating his servant didn’t change anything. However, not reacting in any way didn’t work either, and not even flattery and rewards were useful. Perhaps, on certain occasions, hitting Melkor until his nose bled made him behave well the next day, but at other times only made things worse, and it was with gifts and words of praise for his wickedness as one compelled him to fix the damage.
In the end, Tulkas simply shrugged helplessly. At least he was fulfilling adequately his duty as guardian, and as long as the chaos of Melkor was confined to his four walls, the rest of Arda would be safe. Because the rebellious Vala was, in fact, as much a prisoner of Tulkas as he had been of Mandos, and couldn’t leave the house in any way. Aulë had made sure that it was so, reinforcing the door of his friend with unbreakable bronze, and putting bars in each window, firmer than the roots of the mountains.

Because of this, Melkor was often bored, and when he was not upsetting Tulkas, he sat on the floor of the room he had been assigned, ruminating on his hatred. The room only had a rickety old bed against the wall and a tall, ample window, with particularly sturdy bars.
Behind those bars, Melkor received an unexpected visit one day. A black shadow, which at first glance seemed like an enormous bat, suddenly darkened the light coming through the window. Then he realized that it was only a Maia perched on the sill.
Melkor blinked a couple of times, impassive.

-And who are you supposed to be?

-I am Mairon, the Admirable.

-You don’t seem much admirable to me.

-Well, neither dost thou seem much mighty arising.

-Oh! So we have an insolent one here, huh? –retorted Melkor, twisting the corner of his mouth sarcastically, and took a few seconds to examine the intruder.

Pale and thin, long legs, skillful fingers, sharp fangs in a shark's smile. But he dressed rather humbly, with just a black leather vest and pants. The wristbands, also of leather and studded, added a further touch of roughness to the outfit.

-A blacksmith. A vulgar blacksmith from the forge of Aulë dares to appear at my window and treat me informally just like that.

-I haven’t treated thee informally. And I'm not as vulgar as thou thinkest.

-Does Aulë know that you are here, does your daddy know that you have escaped his forge now that Laurelin loses its brilliance, and that you are talking to the Enemy of Arda? Are you aware of the horrible things I could do to you if you fell into my hands, Morion?

The insolent Maia tapped the bars.

-Not while this stands between us. And believe me when I tell thee that they are very resistant: I myself participated in their forge. But in answer to thy question, it’s Mairon. And no, nobody knows I'm here. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation (which is probably not very good to begin with).

Melkor closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall, somewhat jaded.

-Then why did you come? Get out of my way, your presence importunes me!

Mairon's smile became even more evident, but now there was an air of uneasiness in it.

-Thou... fascinates me... -Melkor opened his eyes again, his curiosity slightly excited, and let the Maia speak:- From the beginning of time I have admired thy work and thy vision, so unique, so different. But the same question always came to me: Why art thou evil? Why dost thou not put thy talent to the service of the other Valar, as the rest do? And where has this evil brought thee? Thou art rotting in a prison when thou couldst rule all Arda with Manwë. So, what dost thou gain by being perverse?

Melkor raised an eyebrow:

-Well, would I still seem so unique and different to you if I had put myself at the service of the Valar, as the rest?

Mairon opened his mouth to reply, but thinking twice, he didn’t say anything; he didn’t have an intelligent retort for such a true statement.

-Besides, I'm not evil. -continued the Vala.- Who told you that stupidity? I simply have differences of opinion with my siblings. No doubt you also have differences of opinion with other Ainur, don’t you? You’re a Maia of Aulë, so I guess the works of Yavanna... aren’t much to your liking, am I mistaken?

-No, they’re not to my liking.

-Does this mean that Yavanna is evil? Or that you are?

Mairon shook his head.

-No, no, it's not the same. Yavanna and I may disagree on certain subjects, but the main thing is that we both followed the theme of Eru during the Music. We both played his theme, only with different notes.

-So what? Does good have anything to do with complying with Eru's demands? What is Good?-Melkor had stood up and advanced a couple of steps toward Mairon.

The Maia, by instinct, shrank a little intimidated. There was something deeply enigmatic in the eyes of that Vala, and his mind, so perceptive at other times, collided against it as against an opaque wall. But soon, remembering that Melkor couldn’t hurt him, he regained his haughtiness:

-Good is what Eru decides, for He created everything that exists. There is no ambiguity in this reality.

-Oh, but what is reality but ambiguous!? –laughed Melkor, stretching out his arms.- Our father Eru said nothing clear about Good and Evil. And even if he had said it, shall we measure ourselves by his rod? No. I am my own measuring rod. And if we really come from Eru and are part of him, then my principles are as valid as if they came from Eru himself. And if we don’t come from him, then he’s not as omnipotent as he makes us believe, and therefore, what he thinks or doesn’t think is irrelevant.

Mairon's smile had abandoned his face long ago, and now his tight lips almost disappeared into a pale line.

-Those thoughts, though logical, are dangerous. And they lead to nothing practical or viable, only to a spiral of destruction. It’s better not to think of such things, and simply go with the flow, for the common good. -said Mairon, almost in an inaudible whisper.

Now Melkor was very close, dangerously close, and from the other side of the bars pierced him with those eyes. Mairon trembled whenever he met them, and still he couldn’t stop looking at them. And when at last the Vala answered, after a few moments of tormenting him in that way, his voice sounded like a knife penetrating his flesh.

-How hypocrite sound foreign words in your mouth, Maia! Both you and I know that it’s not your heart what governs you, but your intellect. And your intellect tells you that my words are true, and that this is the only thing that counts, without going into sentimental and ridiculous considerations as "the common good." You know this, Maia. And what's more, you know that I know it. And in some way, in some way you dare not confess to yourself, in some twisted and arrogant way, you... feel proud that I know it.

These last words Melkor said within inches of the Maia's lips, and Mairon felt wounded, and terrified. The Vala had discovered his soul too clearly.
Without a word, Mairon stepped down from the windowsill and ran away, beneath the crepuscular shadows of Telperion.
Melkor roared with laughter.

-That is, run, Moiran, return to the safety of your forge!!... You will return.

But Mairon didn’t appear in the following days, and Melkor felt horribly bored. He had also stopped tormenting Tulkas with random wreckage in the house; at the end of the day, he didn’t want it to become a routine.
Seeing him in this somber mood, and a seemingly calmer state, Tulkas thought he could do something beneficial with his servant for a change.

It was a glorious day, and the light of Laurelin extracted golden glints from the bronze columns in Tulkas’ courtyard, where he and Melkor stood opposite each other.

-We’re going to practice hand-to-hand combat. I have not had many opportunities to do it lately, and since you're at my command, it's the least you can do to please me. Besides, it’s high time you learn to fight like a man, without cheating or dirty tricks.

Melkor looked around distractedly, showing as much disinterest as possible to the words of his "master”.

-Here, put this on. -continued Tulkas, placing in his hands a cuirass, greaves and armguards of tanned leather, with brass reinforcements.

Melkor simply dropped the equipment on the floor, scornfully.

-I'm not going to wear this garbage for soldiers! Do you think I'm an Orc?

Tulkas blinked, puzzled:

-It's not garbage for soldiers. Oromë himself made it for me, and even Aulë put his good work in the reinforcements. Pick it up right now!

And Melkor, very obedient, picked it up from the ground, approached the well that stood in the middle of the courtyard, and threw everything into it.

-So that’s the way it is, right!? Well, then if you prefer to fight just with that poor robe of yours, it’s your problem.

-I won’t fight with you, Tulkas! This is stupid, and besides...

But Melkor couldn’t finish the sentence, because the next second, the other Vala had thrown himself on him and was beating him with great mirth. Melkor tried to avoid his chokeholds, but it was impossible without changing his body, and Tulkas threw him in the air without problem.

-Come on, fight!! –laughed Tulkas, tangled with him in a confusing knot of limbs.

-I don’t want to! And leave me alone, you idiot!!

Melkor had ended beneath his rival, with their faces so close to each other that they could feel their breaths. But even though he was defeated, Tulkas didn’t withdraw from him. No, it could almost be said that he pressed more and more against him.
Melkor felt something soft and warm against his crotch, through the thin fabric of the robe. Annoyed, he raised his knee suddenly and drove it between Tulkas's legs.
In a moment, the wrestler rolled over the ground howling, and Melkor was free.

-Don’t play tricks, Melkor! Only women would use such a low blow in the middle of the fight. -scolded him Tulkas, when he recovered from the pain.

-Well, it must be the only useful thing those fools have come up with.

-But how can you say something so terrible!? The ladies of the Valar are worthy and respectable goddesses!

-Oh yes! Goddesses of weaving, and flowers, and dances in meadows. Such worthy nonsense!

-You insult my wife now?

-Do you care? She’s your wife only by name. Where is she now? You don’t even know it yourself. She should be the one to take care of household chores, not me! -Melkor took a step toward him, his eyes narrowing in a vaguely seductive gesture.- Besides, Tulkas, you know as well as I do that this isn’t a real fight. That what you most desire in the depths of your soul is to fight with me as in the old days, when we could unleash the subterranean forces of the world with just our hands. Not this ridiculous farce! It’s in your power to make it so again... Like that time... You want it.

And Melkor extended his wrists to him, trapped by the shackles.
The prospect was very tempting for Tulkas. Melkor's wrists were tempting, with their swollen, blue veins peering out from beneath the metal. Melkor's lips were tempting, and his teeth shining behind a half smile. Tulkas was about to run his finger across the shackles. But he backed off at the last moment.

-No, you want to trick me. You want me to release you with the excuse of engaging in a real fight. But actually you’re only trying to regain your powers to flee and continue to sow chaos. Anyway, you're wrong if you think I have the power to remove those shackles. Not even my whole strength gathered would serve.

And here Tulkas was telling the truth. But there were others who had that power, and Melkor was about to discover it.

Mairon returned to Melkor's window four days later, as subtly as the first time.

-I've been thinking long and hard about our last conversation. -he said, leaning his head against a bar with indolence.

-I, for my part, haven’t thought about you in the slightest, Mirion.

-It's Mairon! And besides, maybe thou shouldest think more about me. Keeping in mind that I am, as thou knowest, a servant of Aulë, whose shackles are closed around thy wrists and ankles.

Melkor opened his eyes, intrigued:

-What do you imply with that, slave?

Mairon laughed, and a fang flashed in his mouth.

-I don’t know if thou art the most indicated to speak of me as a slave. But what I imply is that, perhaps, I could have access to the secret of the runes that bind your power to those shackles.

-Would you be willing to release me, then? Me, the greatest nightmare of the Valar? Even knowing that you could be one of the first to succumb to my anger?

-I didn’t say I'm going to release thee. Although I have come to understand a bit better thy vision and thy position, that doesn’t mean that I find any advantage in seeing thee free. I love order, and there’s no possible order with thee. No, the only thing I wanted thee to know is that I have access to that knowledge which concerns thee so much.

-It's a matter of pride, then. You just wanted to rub it in my face. –sneered Melkor, sitting on the bed with a sly visage. Mairon shrugged. -And don’t you know, perchance, that pride is the main characteristic of those who took my side and rebelled against the Valar?

-I'm not one of them. I didn’t follow thy theme in the Music.

-Only because of pride... -Melkor narrowed his eyes, and suddenly Mairon had the impression that the light from the Trees withered a little.- Be careful, little Maia. The fact that you’ll be the last to fall, only implies that your fall will be all the more spectacular.

Mairon felt a chill, and stood up on the windowsill, ready to leave. That conversation wasn’t pleasing to him.

-I will never follow thee! -he said.

-On the contrary. You belong to me since the first time you laid eyes on me.

Mairon frowned, furious, and turning into a bat he fled away.
Melkor peered through the bars and followed the dark shadow until it disappeared into the tops of distant trees.
A faint smile was on the corner of his mouth.

In fact, Mairon applied himself to the study of runes by pure spite. But he did so hidden from everyone, entering the library of Aulë when he found himself alone and prying his designs furtively. It wasn’t that the study of runes was forbidden in itself, nothing further from the truth. But he felt an inexplicable sense of guilt in doing so, as if something disastrous would happen in consequence... And he knew it.
Of course, Curumo ended up finding about his comings and goings in the library, and he told Aulë everything. When his master asked him about the subject, however, Mairon was unable to tell him the truth. He had never lied before, let alone to his lord. And there was no suspicion in Aulë's attitude. Nevertheless, Mairon found himself telling him an ornate story about how the desire for beauty had awakened in him, and how he wanted to learn the making of even more beautiful jewels, that rivaled with those of the Noldor. For this reason he studied filigree models. Aulë seemed very pleased with the explanation, and didn’t bother him again, so he could continue his investigations with even greater discretion.
That was Mairon's second lesson in Arda. He learned what deception was. And he discovered that it was effective in achieving his goals.

For his part, Tulkas was more tormented than ever by the presence of Melkor from the day they fought and he fell on him. When their bodies brushed each other tightly for a few seconds. Again, old images returned: of birds courting, of Lórien's robe opening over his crotch, of the white deer that he couldn’t reach, of Melkor bleeding on the ledge, of Melkor subdued, of Melkor smiling with malice, of Melkor, always of Melkor.
He had him before his eyes, sitting in an armchair with his head resting on his hand, and he seemed to doze. His ivory foot appeared beneath the edge of his robe, naked and translucent. And Tulkas fell on his knees before him, and kissed that foot, and began to raise the edge of the robe to discover a perfect, snowy leg, and he lowered his head to catch a glimpse of what was hidden under those clothes.
Then Melkor opened his eyes:

-Have you lost something down there, Tulkas?

-I...I... I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything. It's very dark.

The evil Vala laughed, and indolently pushed Tulkas away, showing him the same contempt he had shown him from his throne of Utumno.

The final trigger took place a few days later. It was one of those occasions in which Melkor wanted to get into the kitchen and prepare something to eat. And maybe he would serve it to Tulkas, or maybe he would throw it in the trash after finishing, because he never ate.
He had a knife in his hand and cut some vegetables with rage, with his back to Tulkas, who watched him from the door. One of the sleeves of the old robe had slipped down his shoulder, exposing part of his back. Tulkas couldn’t help but stare as hypnotized at that piece of skin, and the bone of his shoulder blade moving at the rhythm of the knife. Without knowing how, he suddenly found himself beside Melkor, caressing and kissing that bone with adoration.
The evil Vala stabbed the knife sharply on the table.

-What... are... you... doing!? -but as Tulkas didn’t answer, absorbed as he was on his shoulder, Melkor turned sharply, knife in hand, and made a cut on his finger.

Tulkas stepped back a couple of paces, watching the blood flow and still lost in reverie. Then a knife whistled past his ear and stuck to the far wall. The wrestler looked at it, looked at Melkor, blinked a few times, and laughed.

-So you want to fight, huh? Fantastic for me, you know that I never refuse a good fight when the opportunity presents itself. -Tulkas flexed his muscles, preparing for combat.

Melkor cast a quick glance around, assessing the possibilities of defense or flight.

-I'm not going to fight with you now, stupid Tulkas, you know I'm not interested! Get out of here once and for all!! -he warned, leaning back against the table.

But Tulkas didn’t listen, and laughing he pounced on him, inflamed with desire and yearning. Melkor tried to reach another knife hanging from a shelf, but the heavier body of his rival dragged him and all the kitchen utensils to the floor.
The two Valar rolled on the floor, one attacking with punches, the other defending himself with nails and teeth and no less savagery. Taking advantage of a distraction of his enemy, Melkor hit him on the head with a frying pan and disengaged himself from his arms. Tulkas, however, was holding the edge of his robe, and it tore from side to side. The sight of the other Vala, almost naked, was the last provocation that Tulkas needed. Completely out of his mind, he pushed Melkor onto the kitchen table, throwing an infinity of junk to the floor, and laid him on his back. From a nearby drawer he drew a rope, and with it he bound his wrists to one of the rings of the table, where he used to hang hunting pieces. Once his rival was immobilized in this way, Tulkas ripped the shreds of cloth that still covered him, uncovering white under black, and black on the white crotch.
Melkor looked at himself: he had been left completely naked and at the mercy of his enemy, and his position on the table was so forced that he couldn’t even close his legs. His most vulnerable part was open, and there was nothing he could do to escape, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t avoid to be done what he guessed was going to be done with him. And seeing himself thus, realizing his impotence, he became more aroused than he had ever been.
It might have seemed strange, but his member was no less hard or swollen than that which Tulkas now showed him, threatening. And though he stirred, and cursed and spat, and his flesh opened painfully to give way to that member, too large for him, Melkor felt an immense pleasure. A guilty pleasure, forbidden, and therefore delicious.
Of course Melkor had copulated countless times with his servants in the days of Utumno, and even before. In his futile attempt of begetting offspring, he had mated with creatures of all kinds, shapes, sizes, and sexes. But there was a great difference between copulating with a spirit of fire when one is as formless and fluid as fire, and doing what they were doing at that moment. Now he was trapped in a body of flesh that could break and bleed, and his wrists were doubly trapped by shackles and ropes, and he was master neither of himself nor of the reactions of his body, nor of the pleasure he felt. Arda's most powerful being had no power over anything at all. And wasn’t this the greatest possible rebellion against the designs of Eru, against the role he had given him in Creation?
This mere thought came accompanied by the touch of his member against his stomach, so erect it was, and the tip was even moist already. Above him, Tulkas gasped and grunted, alienated and enslaved by his lowest passions. And with each of his thrusts, Melkor moaned and opened a little more, trying to get rubbed right in that secret spot that so exquisite seemed to him.
Tulkas was coming dangerously close to climax, and at one point he tried to kiss the other Vala. But Melkor wasn’t going to tolerate this, and instead of a kiss he received a painful bite in his lips and began to bleed. Then it was when Melkor's entire body shuddered with a choked cry, his back arched in a spasm, and his inner muscles contracted around Tulkas.
The wrestler of the Valar was no longer able to resist, and he poured his seed inside the other, in the midst of an ineffable pleasure that carried him to the Timeless Halls for a few moments.

But when the pleasure of both began to subside, and they separated their bodies, and their minds cleared, each looked the other in the eyes. And it was in that instant, in that border between the confusion of instincts and the light of reason, which is as thin as the edge of the blade, when Tulkas understood what he had done.
Horrified, he untied Melkor and ran away from the house.
Melkor slid to the floor, exhausted, and for a long time his mind went blank.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Stuff taken from the Book of Lost Tales:

-The magic manacles and shackles which bind Melkor, and his sentence to serve in Tulkas' house.

-Silmo, the servant of Lórien: "but the Gods hearkened to her bidding, and Vána caused one of her own maidens, even Urwen, to care ever for this task of watering Laurelin, while Lórien bade Silmo, a youth he loved, to be ever mindful of the refreshing of Silpion."

Non-canon stuff:

-Mairon being still loyal to Aulë at this time. According to the "Annals of Aman", he was already Melkor's spy before the fall of the Lamps, and was in charge of Angband during Melkor's chaining.

-Evidently, Melian departs to Middle-earth much earlier than here (but I wanted to have her in the story a bit more)