Perfection

Worry not, I still plan to write another story tonight.  If I hadn't been busy until 4:00 this would have been edited and such sooner.

Canon-compliant AU.  Melkor on the wonders of the only woman he has ever coveted or lusted after.  Obviously Morgoth is referred to as Melkor throughout.  Also, Eru is referred to as "Father" several times, and Melkor calls the other Ainur "siblings" even though only Manwë is technically his brother.  So don't consider his obsessiveness over Varda incestuous or anything LOL.  Also, I use a lot of "physical" terms and descriptions that may not technically "exist" yet in the context of the story, so forgive me for finding it difficult to describe a person who doesn't have the form of a physical person but can still speak and sing.  I just had to give them "raiment", so to speak.  Takes place in the Timeless Halls before the creation of Arda, possibly shortly before or after the Ainulindalë.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Silmarillion (technically the Ainulindalë).

Pairings: one-sided Melkor x Varda, Manwë x Varda

Characters: Melkor, Varda, Manwë (mentions other Ainur and Eru)

Warning: canon-compliant AU, vague sexual undertones, stalking and obsessive behavior, disturbed mental health, world domination plots

Song: Final Judgment

Words: 1,023
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perfection (noun): the quality of being perfect as freedom from fault or defect: flawless, an exemplification of supreme excellence
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/perfection

It was not often that Melkor found himself completely enchanted.

Indeed, the greatest and most powerful of the Ainur often found himself a little patronizing toward his fellow Ainur, scoffing at his brothers and sisters and their blindly naive foolishness.  On many an occasion, he would inwards wonder how it was that his Father could have intentionally created such spineless creatures, children without will and without independence who always clamored after his every word and order as though it were necessary for survival.  As though they had no ability to think for themselves.

None of them would ever dare wander off on their own.  None of them would ever dare think of possibilities not revealed to them already by their mighty creator.

Certainly, none of them would have allowed their thoughts to stray in the dangerous directions that did Melkor's.  Directions of independence--they would have labeled in usurpation--and longing--they would have asked why it was he couldn't be properly content with what he had been given already--and sometimes even resentment.

He wanted something that was not his to want.  How dare these simpering children damn him for ambitiously reaching for that which lay so tantalizingly just beyond his fingertips!

But it was still amongst their number that he eventually found her.

Speaking with Manwë--his blood brother in the eye of Ilúvatar and the most foolish and distasteful of the pathetic followers--she was tall and willowy with dark hair that seemed to glimmer with reflection as it swept out about her elegant neck and shoulders.  Standing like a queen before a powerful man, her very stance spoke of strength and flexibility.

Her hair was the only thing dark about her.  The rest of her was resplendent.

Long limbs, slender and moving through the air as if floating.  Pale features, laced through with near-blinding resonant light that shuddered over his skin in waves of heat and coolness.  Beauty beyond compare, for her smooth face was flawless and her slanted eyes large and long-lashed.  Silvered-blue, they were, and echoes of the Flame Imperishable flashed in their depths and spilled over into the black about those pale spheres.

Even from a distance, everything about her was perfect.  Strong and steady and beautiful and full of that light that he so coveted.  Exactly what he would have desired in a mate.

But up close he discovered she was even more wondrous.  For there was none of that demure maiden shyness upon her features when she spoke to the handsome man before her, nor the disgusting frippery so commonly found in the female population.  It was plain as day that she was not some teasing, flirting little pet out for an arm upon which to hang to make herself feel "complete".  Nor was she a woman easily cowed or enchanted by a charming smile and a few words of empty compliment and worship.

Her voice was strong, lower than he would have expected and ringing with clarity and bell-like pitch.  The mere thought of hearing her sing a theme woven by his own hand made heat bubble and boil in a primal tangle beneath his raiment.  What a glorious sound she would make!  What a gift she was, this maiden!

Varda.

And Melkor was not ashamed to admit that he wanted her.  That he followed her and watched her and stalked her relentlessly, even when he knew she despised him with every ounce of her being.  It was that which made her all the better in his eyes, for he never would desire a woman who so easily surrendered to his domination in obedience simply because he was a powerful man.  He wanted a queen that he needed to work to subjugate--to seduce into lust and to force into love and to crush beneath his thumb.  He wanted a challenge.

And she was undoubtedly that.  Glares that scalded skin were leveled, but the burn only made Melkor shiver in pleasure.  Scathing words poured like acid across his flesh, but they only made the infatuation within his mind darker and stronger.  Once, she had dared even to attack him when he had tried to wrap her spirit within the dark curtain of his presence, and the sting of her nails biting into his body had the most powerful ainu shuddering and moaning softly.

Those lips curled into a snarl summoned forth the urge to bite and ravish them.  Those eyes narrowed with disdain were as fresh water in a desert of the soul.  That radiant form made him wish to capture her in the cage of his fingers and hold her hostage.

Make her despise him.  Make her love him.

Make her want him.

Because she was perfection incarnate.  And no matter how many times he saw her with his brother, hand-in-hand and smiling tenderly as sweethearts, he only stopped to smirk and imagine the look upon Manwë's face when he saw her upon Melkor's lap writhing in ecstasy and calling a different name to the skies.  And no matter how many times she threatened bodily harm and mocked his power and spat words of disdain for his rebelliousness and sickly darkness, Melkor only ever licked his lips in anticipation of having all of her being for his own whilst she stood helpless and impotent in silent rage.

Ambitious and stubborn, he knew what he wanted.  And nothing was going to stop him from taking that which he believed his due.

In the end, she would be by his side.  And only then would he shatter her, rend her apart at the seams until her fire and white light spilled forth.  Only then would she be broken upon his heavy, unforgiving hand like a china doll, left to pick up the ruined scraps in the wake of her own destruction and rebuild anew.

Her perfection would then be beyond perfection.  For only he could be allowed to break this adamant woman.  And then she would be his queen as he sat upon his throne.