I… ought to explain.
Before the sun and moon, before trees, before the lamps, all the Valar and their attendants gathered to build Arda as they had seen it in the halls of the creator.
The work was seamless; we knew not tiredness nor hunger, there was no change of light to mark the passage of time, no seasons to break the years of labor. We did not rest; not for eons.
But every project has its complications, and at some point it became necessary to halt the production of earth’s materials in order to address certain… conflicts of interest. Not all the Valar agreed how best to implement the Theme, and Eru Iluvatar did not always answer their queries, or answer directly. So it was decided: once every seven thousand years there would be a sabbath. Work would cease, and the Ainur would discuss their progress, set new objectives, and refocus their mind and hearts on the glory of the Theme. We called it the Quietus.
That was the only time a maia like myself could leave aside their tasks and mingle with whosoever we chose. And I suppose this is a matter of history now, but after a time, I chose to spend that time in the presence of Melkor. Many of us did. He was immeasurable, bright, glorious… His notice felt like a beam of sunlight that singles out one flower from a field. The mightiest of the Valar, looking down, picking you out of the many– for an instant you were greater than all others, brighter, warmer, more significant to the universe.
Once, I stood in the palm of his hand and he lifted me to his eyes and said: “I have never seen a maia stronger than you. I would know you even in the Sea of Maiar. You are harder and more beautiful than all the others. Would that you were mine.”
I loved him so much. I would have done anything for him.
Would you believe that when I finally did enter his service, leaving everything I had known and abandoning my father’s care for the sake of him, I did not dare speak to him unless he bid me to? I could hardly look directly at him. It felt like an indiscretion. The Valar all have Vala mates– they do not consort with Maiar, save for Melkor, and they loathed him for it. Even we Maiar spoke of the act with distaste, gossiped about it in horror and intrigue. It was blasphemy. We are less than they.
He had to teach me, with many, long lessons, how to blaspheme. How to touch him without flinching. And oh, I longed to touch before I ever brushed so much as a finger against him… I am lucky that Melkor had the patience in those days to tease me out of my mold, else I might still be as chaste as a new-poured casting. But he has no reservations, my Master; he happily drifted weightless into my arms as soon as he was moved to, let me sink into him like an iron rod into molten glass. I do not even remember where it began. I had him across an anvil, against the pillars of Utumno, knelt before his golden throne, between his legs. God, how he sang… he was vulgar and sweet and pliant, all the things I was not. All I wanted was to keep him breathless, praising me, his claws on my back, his thighs around my waist, soft and searing, opening for me. I want that still, I will want it forever.
The world is ash without him.
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