It was not often he had the opportunity to travel unattended through the cities of the Eldar; less often still that he had no errand set for him while he was there. A Vala, even diminished and in chains as he was, would find it difficult to go unnoticed about the Eruhini, and so, on this rare afternoon where he had been given leave to wander (for recent good behavior had won him a long leash), Melkor shed his golden flesh and walked unclad amidst the populace of Tirion. Free to slip unseen and unheard amidst the Noldor, he savored the chance to spy and collect news and gossip that were not meant for his ears.
Delicious…
It felt extraordinary to be unfettered again after so long! And yet, even now, there was a part of his spirit that felt as though it were lost at sea, missing an anchor, keenly desiring sensations to ground it… This worried Melkor, but it was not a matter he had time to spare attention to that day. Blissfully spreading himself over and through the unaware populace, he sampled the conversations of a hundred or more merchants and scholars and craftsmen, sifting through their various emotions and unguarded thoughts, panning for any gleaming nuggets of scandal or discontentment.
He reconvened himself, disgruntled. Only dull, trivial indiscretions, minor acts of selfishness. How boring…
The cloud of Melkor readied himself to take a plunge back into the crowd, when a shiver ran through his incorporeal spirit, like a plucked strand of spider-silk that makes the whole web tremble. Below (so to speak, for he was everywhere), sitting on the mighty steps of the Great Library of Tirion, were to young men in heavy discussion. One fair, one dark and tall. Both sons of sons of Finwë, he scented– and something… something more. A thread ran between the two of them, and alarmingly, through him; the Vala disincarnate and the elven princes. From his vantage point, Melkor could see that the thread ran far, far into the future of that Age. There was a darkness at the end of it.
He found himself afraid, unwilling to come closer. He did not wish to come nearer to the youths, even to spy on them… And yet– was this not exactly the sort of thing he ought to investigate?
The darker, taller elf moved off, bidding his friend farewell. Turgon the Vala heard, and of the one left sunning himself on the library steps, Ingoldo. So– now two more branches of the mighty Finwëan tree had faces as well as names…
His fear lifted somewhat… the blond one smelled of mixed bloodlines, rich and strong, seasalt and iron and gold. The Doom that hung about this one had not yet spun itself from fibers of potential to a single thread… at least, not one that pierced him through the core. Certainly, he was the most interesting opportunity the day had presented yet.
Melkor unfurled himself just out of sight, farther up the marble stairs. With a subtle chime of metal shackles and a flutter of dark cloth, he approached, clearing his throat softly.
“Greetings, Artafindë. Pardon me, but I can’t help but notice what a lovely ring you’re wearing. I’m very fond of serpents myself, but I don’t see them much depicted in Noldor craft. May I see it more closely?"
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