Prowl

Canon compliant.  Morgoth is looking for maiar to seduce to his side.  And he's found something special.  Morgoth is referred to throughout as Melkor and Sauron is referred to as Mairon (because he has not yet been seduced to the "dark side").  This is the first time I've ever written Morgoth's POV actually, so it's interesting.  He actually does not think about the same sorts of things as Sauron; their motivations are different, even if their methods are annoyingly similar.  Except that Sauron tends to be a little less arrogant and a little more stealthy (in a weird sort of way).  Anyway, takes place in/around Almaren in the Years of the Lamps.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion

Pairings: none

Characters: Morgoth, Sauron, unnamed maiar (mentions Eru and the Valar)

Warning: canon compliant, implied seduction to the dark side, touches on ideologically sensitive material (sort of), mentions sadism and corruption (innate evil in everything sort of stuff)

Song: Controlling the Iron Beast

Words: 1,530
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prowl (verb): to move about or wander stealthily in or as if in search of prey; to roam over in a predatory manner
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/prowl

For the longest time, his brethren remained blind.

Sightless to all that did not please their gazes, within and without, they became vulnerable.  Easy prey.  Settled into their green little paradise with their perfectly shaped and cut land masses and deep oceans, nesting beneath resplendent brilliance without care or heed to the darkness growing beyond the light of their pitiful Lamps.

Melkor looked down upon their island of symmetrical beauty and scoffed.

They called it perfection.

It was anything but.

For everywhere he looked, there was shadow.  They--those conceited, self-righteous dogs of Ilúvatar--could not pierce through any darkness with their sight, nor could they lift the veil of light they had cast over the flaws in their plans and designs.  For, though they sought to hide it from themselves, there was no denying Melkor's influence in all that they wrought.

In the creeping, acidic swamps breeding flesh-eating insects and vermin and the dark, twisted creatures clawing their way through the pits of filth beyond sight of naked eyes.  In the sickness of all things green and plentiful that slowly spread its way down through their golden fields of barley and their seedling forests now bitter with rotting fruits.  In the dread that sent chills down unwary spines and left the faint of heart peering nervously over their quivering shoulders into those lands outside the protection of their blinding creations.

They were more foolish still, though, for they saw neither the physical imperfections tainting their supposed purity (And whose purity was it, truly, when it was the work of mindless slaves scrounging at their master's feet?), nor the black stain of their own hearts entwined with the melody of his theme.

But Melkor saw.

All those creeping little secrets and thoughts twining through the heads of these supposedly holy, untouchable beings.  He prowled through those tangled webs, scenting out the truth beneath façades and lies and treachery.  Perhaps he was unwelcome amongst them--for they took His side in the days before corporeality--but they could not hide their true selves from his gaze.  Melkor might be disowned and cast aside, but he was still the most powerful of the Ainur.

And all malice lingered within his domain.  Calling to him.  Fruits ripening so that he might harvest them, steal them away from his maker's armies and bring them into his shadows.  Under his command.

Envy and jealousy.  Green and burning on the flesh as corrosive acid.  Glowing eyes following the forms of others, narrowed with foul emotion.  Coveting the talents of others that they themselves did not possess.  Coveting the mates of others whose love they had not earned.  Coveting the trinkets of others which they could neither duplicate nor take for their own.

"Look at them.  Better than thee.  More intelligent than thee.  More desirable than thee.  More talented than thee.  And what did they do to earn their prize?  Naught more than thou didst--"

Greed, also, drew him to its voracious glory.  Those who sought more riches and things of beauty because gems and gold and sexual appetites held them captivated.  Those who would feast until they sickened and drink until they passed out in the grass, awakening only to desire more, more, more.  Those who would not settle to be told that they should cease and be content with what they possessed, because the animal within had already become lusty and insatiable.

"If only thou wouldst do this little thing for me... I have what thou dost need and desire.  Just say the word..."

Fear, too, he likened to some sweet, delicious delicacy surpassing almost any other form of shadow.  So easy to manipulate and control--those who feared could be coerced and convinced.  They could be made to doubt even the most steadfast bonds of loyalty and friendship.  They could be driven to desperation without effort, if only the correct motivation was dangled before their eyes.

"She does not want thee.  I heard that she said thou wert undesirable.  I heard that she would prefer another.  I heard..."

 And then there was hatred.  A little slight here.  A little comment there.  A slip of the tongue.  A meaningless insult taken to heart.  And its seeds were planted and growing in the back of the mind, a poisonous tree that branched outwards and consumed everything--thoughts, feelings and lives.  All one needed to do was whisper of vengeance and wrath, and a soul filled with the putrid fire and ash of hatred would crawl on hands and knees if only to taste the rich, heady wine of the tantalizing gift he offered on a silver platter.

"Thou canst do whatever thou dost wish under my reign.  I would not hold thee back, because is it not thy right to take from them what they took from thee?"

Followers came to him, some with eagerness and wickedness that he had foreseen in their actions and read as written tongue in their hearts.  Some reluctantly under duress, fearing for their lives or fearing the rejection of others.  Some to satisfy their own desires, to become more or better or stronger beneath his tutelage and touch.

But they were thralls.  Pawns to serve Melkor as the weak-willed Valar served Him.

It was a special brand of hidden shadow he searched for in the beloved and glorious realm of Almaren beneath the Valar's watchful gaze.  Hunting from just beyond the touch of searing gold and silver.  Spying through the eyes of his servants.  Sifting through the chaotic tangle of thoughts weaving in and out of reality.

Until, at last, he found it.

More than those other things.  There was already talent.  There was already confidence.  There were no solid bonds of loyalty through devotion.  No fear could be unearthed within that heart of iron.  No emotional attachments to taint the perfection lying before his eyes.  This was a diamond in the rough waiting for his hand to pluck it from this dull land lacking inspiration, waiting to be shaped and polished and cut it into something amazing, surpassing all other servants and thralls.  This was something utterly unique--a discovery beyond imagining and beyond value.  Priceless.

For such perfection could not be created.  They had to be discovered.

Not hatred, but a detached desire to crush the spirits of others.  The sadistic delight in the suffering and punishment of innocents and criminals alike.  The pure and untested talent and genius turning the clogs of mind-boggling machinery behind innocent fire-opal eyes and sultry golden curls.  A face of absolute wonder and beauty hiding something even more breathtaking.

But it was more even than that.

There was determination to succeed at any cost, and a will to dominate that would crush anyone and anything that got in his way, stifled only by hegemony--by the indoctrinated morals and principles force-fed to all simpering divine underlings. 

Hegemony all too easily shattered.  And beneath the wreckage of broken lies and false ideology would be--

Mairon.  Beautiful Mairon.  His lovely diamond.  His unwary prey.  Restless in supposed contentment.  Eyes straying from his work to daydream about something greater.  No fear to manipulate.  No greed to bribe.  No envy to prod.  No hatred to stoke.  Only a spirit akin in brotherhood to his own, awaiting wisdom and guidance to free it from the golden cage of laxity and boredom in which the Valar kept it entrapped.

So much potential stared back at him.  And he knew from that moment on that he had found what he had been searching for.  A right hand.  A kindred soul.  A black diamond unearthed from the sea of unworthy pebbles.

A spirit hidden away in the peaceful perfection of Almaren, emerald green meadows and golden fields burning in the lamplight, pretending to be another selfless, compassionate and kind-hearted servant of the One.  Masquerading before the sightless eyes of the Valar, who did not want to see taint encroach upon their Spring.  Who did not want to see the blight in each of their traitorous hearts.

But Melkor, for all his knowledge, had not foresight.

And Melkor did not look into Mairon's eyes twined in vivid scarlet and veins of molten gold and see the terrible harbinger of betrayal.  A reflection that should have urged him to turn the young maia to wilting ashes rather than destructive flames.  That should have warned of the uncontrollable wildfire raging without halt or obstruction through the cage of his insidious whispers and blackened fingers.

A kindred soul too like to the master's.  Too fierce.  Too hot.  Too determined.

Too selfish and treacherous.  A spirit that would serve no power but that which he could call his own.

And Melkor's hunt was too successful, for the prey would become the predator, and eyes created of the earth's blood would prowl through his mind in search of faults to which he was blind.  In search of weaknesses to be exploited and traitorous whispers of greed and envy to manipulate.  In search of opportunities that could not be allowed to slink past.
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I've been ignoring most of the Powers of Arda.  I mean, I've done a lot on Mandos and a lot on Sauron, two of the more prominent ainur in Tolkien's works, but Morgoth plays a huge role (as the primordial villain), and I haven't really examined his POV at all.  I mean, he's got the whole "world domination" thing going on, but he isn't like Sauron.  They are similar, but Morgoth's backstory tells a different tale than Sauron's (being the origin of sin/evil in my head-canon, interpret how thou shalt), and thus I don't imagine Morgoth being all "I want to control everyone for power!" but more like "I want to show that bastard that I am as awesome as he is!"

In any case, this is the start of a new project.  And the irony throughout makes me snigger.  Greed.  Envy.  Fear.  Hatred.  Isn't he such a hypocrite? (Sorry, black humor.  If you don't find it hilarious, it's okay.)

The song I wrote this to was Controlling the Iron Beast from the Crisis Core OST (by Takeharu Ishimoto).  Most of the songs I like and listen to on the OST are orchestral and/or solo piano/violin, but this is one of the more heavy metal type songs on the soundtrack that I fell in love with.  LOL, my mom listened to it and was like "they call this music", but it just had energy (and a melody, might I add) that pleased me greatly.  And a bit of that predatory tint in the background that added to my mood during the composition of this piece (pretend that doesn't sound like a musician speaking instead of an author).

I am happy with this for a first attempt at characterization.  I hope you enjoyed as well.