A Boy in the Snow by chrissystriped

A Boy in the Snow

Read A Boy in the Snow

Melkor stood on the top of a mountain in the Pelori, laughing as the storm whipped snowflakes into his face, stinging his skin. It was icy cold, the air burning in his lungs, his skin tingling, but he felt no discomfort — he felt alive!

He’d needed to get away from his brother who was trying so hard to turn him into a copy of himself. He loathed it, loathed every moment that he had to play the penitent sinner. He was their better, of course they did not understand his views! How dare they think that made him wrong?

He howled with the storm, a storm he’d wrenched away from Manwe — he’d been forced to ask leave of him to come here and make it snow, but he would not let him spy on him when he wished to be alone. The violence of the icy storm took up his anger, gave it an outlet. It wouldn’t go away completely, never that as long as he was a prisoner of the Valar — a fact the manacles around his wrists never let him forget — but it made it possible for him to play them for a little longer. His plans were coming along too nicely — the resentment in the Noldor’s royal family growing by virtue of some cleverly placed rumours — to risk being found out because he couldn’t control his temper.

When the storm finally lessened, only a few stray snowflakes dancing on a light breeze and his anger had subsided to a glow in his chest, Melkor let his eyes sweep over the mountain range. The view of it all covered in snow that glowed golden in the light of Laurelin, made his heart content.

His siblings were fools to not see the beauty of this. They’d taken the light for themselves and didn’t even know what they had here. He should take it away from them. Melkor smiled wickedly. Oh, how they’d weep, if he took their precious trees away from them.

He walked around a bit, enjoying the sound of the snow crunching under his feet, stopping here and there to drink in the landscape. He longed for his fortress, the wide expanses of snow-covered mountains under a dark sky. He’d go back there — soon — to see what could be salvaged after the other Valar had razed it.

Melkor prepared to leave, when he suddenly picked up the song of an elf — weak with cold. He followed it, not that he cared much for the well-being of one of them, but it wouldn’t do if he inadvertently killed someone. His brother wouldn’t like that at all.

He found the elf buried under a coat of snow. His eyes were closed, his lips tinged blue when he wiped the snow from his face. It was a boy, barely more than a child. What was the brat doing up here all alone? Melkor huffed in annoyance.

As he dug him out, he found that he’d broken his leg, he’d probably slipped in the storm. Melkor lifted him up none too gently, the boy whimpering but not waking as he jostled his injured leg in the process. Melkor called for his power, letting warmth seep from his body into the elf as he walked down the mountain. He was relieved when the boy started to shiver, his body fighting to live.

He shook him as he neared the city in the valley.

“Wake up boy!”, he snapped. “Where do you live?”

The boy moaned, his face scrunching up in pain. Clear, grey eyes opened, looking at him in confusion.

“Wha…”, he groaned.

“Where do you live?”, he asked again. “Speak, boy. I don’t have time all day to save children getting in trouble in places where they have no business to be!”

The boy blinked at him slowly. “I… Weaver’s Lane 6”, he said before passing out again.

Melkor hurried up, knowing Tirion well enough to find the house. An agitated woman opened him, giving a little scream when she saw the boy in his arms.

“Mablung! What happened?”

“I found him in the mountains. His leg is broken and he was in the cold, there was a snowstorm.” Melkor laid the boy on the bench before the house, not intending to step in. “Good day.”

She called after him as he left, but he acted as if he hadn’t heard her. He didn’t think she’d recognised him and that was for the best. He didn’t care for his brother to hear about this, he might forbid him the pleasure of making snowstorms otherwise, being always so concerned about the well-being of the Eldar.

But as he left he felt, despite his annoyance, that he was leaving something very precious behind. Melkor shook his head. It was only an elven child! Manwe’s softness must be rubbing off on him.