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The sky was dark. Stars twinkled as if gossiping about the entire universe. The air seemed to hold its breath as if afraid of the dark night. All this was happening as a single soul burned through the darkness. It burned so brightly that the moon became envious of it. The entire world squeezed into the tiny room of a crumbling apartment building. It was an Engineering student. A very unfortunate engineering student who in the midst of pulling an all-nighter had fallen asleep. There goes the lab due the next day. You know that feeling you get when you dream of falling in your sleep and then waking up with a jolt? In scientific language, it is called hypnic jerk. Derek, our very meticulous STEM major protagonist had very confidently self-diagnosed to have a hypnic jerk in the middle of the night. He refused to open his eyes and went back to sleep. However, something was wrong. His body seemed to fall endlessly. What a weird dream. “Melkor,” a voice called in his mind. Derek, who was very put off by the dream subtly cursed his brain. If it was going to be a jerk then Derek would ignore it. Fuck off, he internally flicked off his mind. “Brother…” the annoying voice continued bugging him. Growing up in a household of 3 kids (him being the middle child) Derek had mastered the valuable ability to ignore any form of non-essential confrontations. He was a conflict avoider to the max. That worked best with his gremlin siblings. So, with years of practice, he continued to focus all his attention on sleeping. “MELKOR.” With a scream accompanied by someone vigorously shaking his shoulders. Derek finally had enough. Ready to end whoever had dared to interrupt his date with Hypnos he opened his eyes. “AAAAAAAH,” he pushed the white mass that hovered in front of his eyes. What in the absolute hell was this thing? Derek flung his feet off the bed as he shuffled back towards the wall. Internally he tried to pray to whatever god was available at this atrocious hour. The white glob as he tried to focus was a person…? If you could call that thing a person. It had a face but what was up with the translucent body and brightness of the level of his mom’s phone (or most middle-aged woman’s)? “Melkor, what…” Oh shit, it speaks. At this point, our protagonist tried to close his eyes and go back to sleep maybe he could wake himself up that way. Just as he was about to close his eyes, he noticed a bunch of other lights in the room. Each glowed in a different shade. The bright white one with a slight touch of blue was the one he had seen first. It was the one talking gibberish in the first place. With the attention span of a squirrel, Derek forgot about his prior intention to go back to sleep. Instead, he was now more intrigued by the lights. Aliens, Yeti, unicorns… possibilities were endless. So, Derek made up his mind to indulge in the dream or whatever this was supposed to mean. Derek almost flinched when the white glob of light moved again. Looking back at it Derek could make out some of its features. He almost shit himself when he noticed the humanoid attributes of the ‘thing’. “What the f-” his voice trailed off as the entire room stilled. Behind the white-light person, he could see another twinkling violet glob that seemed to exclude a murderous aura towards him. Maybe the report was a better option all along. “Melkor,” the glob whispered. But not a regular whisper. No, it was a single word like a melody produced by an entire orchestra. At this point, Derek, the meticulous student who had been studying for the big portion of the night, felt an impending headache. Just as he was about to lift his hand to massage his throbbing temple but he stopped mid-motion. His hand…what was he on? His hand was not his hand. It was an absurdly big hand, like a really big hand. Its skin was pale but not the sleeping beauty pretty kind of pale, no it was pale like rotting pale. Like the skin of hardcore gamers who despise sunlight. “It’s the skin of a killer Bella” his mind unhelpfully quoted Edward Cullen. On an impulse, Derek shook his hand and then slapped himself hard on the cheek. Nothing. He did not wake up. On other hand, his face felt like it had been crushed by a mountain. This brought up the very essential question was he ultra strong or was he weakling hurt by his own move? Unseen by Derek, who was busy contemplating on his strength, the glowing globs had seen his little show. There was unnoticed activity in the group that continued to stare at the befuddled dark lord. When Derek looked up at the white light he could almost see a parental I am disappointed in you look. Unknown to him there raged an equally tumultuous silent war on the other end of the room. Struck with the sight of the strongest Ainur (albeit a fallen one) the Valar could not help but be cautious. After decades of Manwe not so subtly bringing up the matter of his brother, they had agreed to take a look at the first criminal of Arda. They had unleashed the fallen Vala from the void only to find him unresponsive. This further led to Manwe letting go of all the restraint to baby his elder brother. At first look, Melkor’s form seemed to be devoid of any sort of essence. A chill ran through the Valar as they considered the possibility of his escape. Tulkas and Orome had almost packed up for their adventure to Middle Earth. But then they had felt it. A sudden surge of life. They had put behind the weird occurrence. It could have been a void thing. Eh… they had Valar to console. Tulkas and Orome had put away their gear sulking but not giving up on the hope of future action. Manwe, the king of Valar, on other hand, had sighed in relief. His brother was safe. As long he was safe, Manwe would preserve to bring him back to light. This is how they got here. Manwe tried to approach Melkor who was now crouched in a corner. Mandos could have laughed when he saw the befuddled look on Melkor’s face. Except he swallowed all his shits and giggles after one stern look from Varda. “He’s clearly up to no good,” Ulmo who had been looking at the shit show supplied very unhelpfully. The Vala of water did not quite vibe with Valinor. He had been itching to go back. His social battery had died hours ago. Looking at Melkor stare at his own hand as if it was an alien object Namo could no longer hold it in. “He does indeed look dumber than the last time.” However, he quickly settled back into the shadows when Varda gave him the look of doom. The queen of Valar was not playing games today. She was a Valier on a mission. There was no way she would let her husband fall for Melkor’s lies. Nope, not on her watch. Looking at Manwe taking baby steps towards his brother Nienna had already started crying hours ago. “I mean… it’s just so sad.” She sniffled next to Irmo who was mentally miles away. “Mellkor,” Manwe called again. This time louder. “What in the absolute fucking hell is a Melkor.” With that Mandos burst out laughing again. Oh no not the amnesia plot, Vaire wondered in her mind.
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“So, am I the bad guy?” Derek asked. They had somehow managed to reign in the emotions that ran wild in everyone’s mind. Introductions had been made and Derek got to know that Melkor is the name of the body he currently finds himself in.“Yeah, no shit Melko- ““Mandos!” the sky bluish light, who he had come to know as Manwe exclaimed.Much to Derek’s dismay both the Vala switched back to the horrid Valarin. For beings who were the very source of music, one would expect a language calming, soothing, and sweeter than any other. Valarin…was horrendous. It stung in his ears like the noise of thousand nails scratching a blackboard.He could understand it but trust him it was not worth it. It was the worst culture shock…worse than finding out his body’s origin.Melkor, the body he entered, is none other than the ultimate bad boy of this world. A criminal who just barely got his parole on nepotism basis at that. Too bad he isn’t here to rejoice or anything. Derek wondered if the dark lord died or the worse possibility, Melkor switched bodies with him.It was an amusing thought to imagine the dark lord as an engineering student. If there was anything worse than the endless void, it had to be the dark alleys of STEM. Well, he was glad that the report due the next day was not his problem now.A distant, saner, part of Derek’s mind was still in the midst of processing the fact that he might indeed be dead in his world. His parents, his siblings, or roommates would find out and they would grieve for him. Or if they would delight in the chance of meeting his dark lord version.The name Illuvatar had remained in Melkor’s memories, the only name that remained. All else was gone with him and so Derek tried it. ‘Umm…excuse me…Illuvatar are you there?’ Derek tried to talk to the possible god and his creator in this world. He had to be the one who must have had any idea of the stupid situation. ‘Am I still Derek? Or am I truly Melkor with an identity crisis or wait am I future Melkor and I time traveled back here. I mean it would be quiet a fall for Melkor to end up as an engineering student but hey it is a possibility.’ he tried asking, only to ramble and sound stupid in his inner monologue. None replied. Head empty no thoughts.Well damn. This one’s got to have some daddy issues for sure. Derek wondered as he telepathically tried leaving a message for Illuvatar (don’t ask him how. He’s new to the whole thing. Trust the process).
‘ To Illuvatar,
I do not know if this is you or not, but I must tell you I am not Melkor. Like I am in his body and it’s super weird. I don’t know if your feral son is dead (if he can die…) or not. I am just kind of in his body. I hope you can like tell me something about this all.’
P.S.- it's kinda urgent.
Hanging up the metaphorical phone Derek became aware of the quiet room. Manwe was staring at him again. It was the same look. Those puppy dog eyes just screamed of younger sibling energy. The look that siblings got seconds before they burst into tears. A precarious look for any older sibling ever.Manwe was…bright. It was difficult to imagine how he was related to Melkor. Long white hair, glimmering blue eyes, and blue robes to maintain the angelic aesthetic. Manwe was pure innocence and uncorrupted power at the same time.Melkor on the other hand. Well… Derek kinda could see himself without a mirror or anything. It was a Valar thing. A perk some would say. Just closing his eyes and he could see his form. He had almost screeched at his own reflection.Melkor was…handsome. Sexy in the ‘I’ll be your fall from grace’ way. Dark black hair, the darkest there could be. Eyes bright like Manwe’s yet, there were glowing golden with the fervor of molten lava buried in the depth of the Earth. And contrasting such stark features was the palest skin ever. It was unlike Manwe’s healthy and flush tan. No Melkor was the supreme edge lord.“Brother can you still not hear it?” Manwe asked. Derek, who had zoned out, realized that the focus from the previous quarrel had shifted back on him.“Hear what?” Derek questioned. Was he supposed to hear something? Oh shit! Did someone call Melkor? It was hard remembering to respond to people when they called someone else’s name. Plus, he wasn’t that keen on the idea of discussing this weird possession with the guy who quite literally was a major simp for his brother. The idea of Manwe finding out his brother’s soul was gone was something scarier than Valarin.With a barely concealed wince, Manwe replied “Do you not hear the music? The song of Arda? What about Illuvatar can you sense him?” Yikes, am I supposed to Derek wondered? To say or not to say, that is the question.“I think don’t he can Manwe.” Another one of the Vala spoke instead of Melkor. If Derek remembered correctly, he was Ulmo. The Vala of seas, oceans, and rivers was visible in every facet of his personality and looks. Dark blue hair in the very predictably wavy in the fashion of waves, not that Derek disapproved of it. His first impression of Ulmo was that of the quiet kid who actually turns out to be really smart. The quiet kid you should not mess with. ‘Poseidon, Aquaman,’ Derek’s brain unhelpfully listed.By the looks of it, Ulmo’s words did not sit well with Manwe. “I mean it is not difficult to see Manwe.” Mandos, the Vala who hated Melkor the most, added in support of Ulmo. It was surprising that even Derek felt the heavy animosity. And Derek was nothing if not dense.Manwe continued to ignore Mandos and Ulmo collectively. “Can you truly not hear it Melkor?” he asked with an uncomfortably consistent eye contact. From his peripheral vision, Derek could see Varda take a step towards them.“No,” Derek replied. “I cannot hear music or the song you speak of,” and the air in the room stilled. Everything fell silent as Manwe nodded in acceptance. However, Derek was not done. It was time to rip the bandage.“I don’t remember anyone. I don’t know you or as matter of fact myse- ““YOU MORON! WHERE IS MY MAIA?” before Derek could have completed his sentence he interrupted and was then promptly strangled by an unseen force. He truly had not seen it coming.Put back the bandage he distantly wondered.The room erupted in Chaos as Varda jumped in to save Manwe, who jumped in to save Melkor, who was attacked by Aule who was simultaneously being pulled away by Yavanna.Chaos came to Valinor. Yet not the chaos that rained destruction but the chaos that mingled with the order to retain the world.“He…he has returned.”In the darkest canopy of unvisited forests, a voice whispered with a trace of hysterical joy. The sole existence of those woods. A shadow that lamented in unlit lands.Once glazed eyes caught the first reflection of the light they once held. Ashen gray hair ignited as if a fire rekindled. Hair that now changed into the blistered red shade of flames. Gone was the lament and mourning.Mairon had come to life.“Master Melkor returned,” the silent trees of bleak woods shivered with fear as the fire captured them in its grasp.With a crazed smile, Mairon wondered if it was time to go get his master back to their lands. Utumno would be rebuilt, and order would be restored.So, it began as Mairon started making his way to Valinor.
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Manwe's palace matched his aesthetic to a T. Wide open halls echoed the songs of the wind, untarnished halls where even the floor held intricate carvings. Every inch of the walls was filled with the lore of this world. Well, semi-legible lore because the halls were filled with birds of every kind, and their nests nestled in crevices of the engraved figures.Birds were everywhere. Derek felt every single bird look at him. No look was a softer word for the glares he received from literal bird brains.After walking for God Eru knows how long, the party of Manwe, Varda, Eonwe, and Melkor ended up in a quiet and secluded part of the palace: wide open halls and a spacious veranda. White linen curtains swayed in a gentle breeze, and the walls were painted in the most subtle shade of blue. It felt as if the skies descended and settled in the room.Surely, this was not meant for him. Derek was aware, or somewhat aware, of Melkor's past. No sane person would offer this to... "Brother, I hope you like your room." Manwe turned to face Derek/Melkor with the most expectant look in his eyes.Behind him, both Varda and Eonwe glared at Derek as if warning him against saying anything wrong. Not that Derek could have criticized anything about the room. It was too perfect, too clean, and too good for an edge lord like Melkor.If Derek was not the one trapped in Melkor's body, he too would have tried to warn Manwe against the fallen Vala. Derek cleared his throat as he spied Manwe's quivering lips and Varda's clenching fists. He would not test them today. "Ah yes, brother, this is gorgeous," Manwe beamed, and Derek continued as Varda stepped back. "You need not do this for someone like me. I wou-""Ai, none of this, brother," Manwe announced as he took Derek's hands in his own. "Don't say such things...for a second there, I thought we lost you. I could not sense you. I thought you were gone with a heart so heavy. Without a single chance to repent..." Manwe's eyes filled with tears. Even as the majestic king of Valinor, he looked more vulnerable than ever.Both Varda and Eonwe remained unmoving, and Derek found his heart laden with guilt. He was not Melkor. He frankly had no idea where Melkor was, hopefully not in his dingy apartment. But looking at the almost sobbing Vala, Derek felt a surge of pain in his heart. A feeling of restlessness filled him, and for a moment, he wondered if it was Melkor who felt this way. Sensing a shift in the room, Derek moved closer to his brother.With Melkor's awkwardly gangly post-imprisonment limbs, he hugged Manwe, who froze. His arms barely encircled Manwe when he heard a clang of a sword pointing at him. Eonwe, ever vigilant, looked at him with alarm in his eyes. Varda's hands seemed to be glowing very suspiciously.Derek struggled to hold back a squeak with how close the sword's tip was to his throat. Was everyone in Valinor so wound up? He had been in this body for less than a day and had been attacked twice. Near-death experience attacks discounting Varda's constant death threat glares."I... I wha…" Derek tried to form words despite death staring him in the eye. He struggled, but the sword looked far too sharp for any good. His arms locked around Manwe, and he was unable to make the very wise move of fleeing to the corner of the room."Step back and leave," Manwe commanded in a voice, unlike the soft tone he used with Derek. His face morphed into an expression devoid of previous grief and emotions. In the blink of an eye, Eonwe was gone. But much to Derek’s dismay, Varda remained in the corner. Weary but now without the weird glowing hand.Everyone in the room got whiplash from Manwe’s expression, which now switched back to his puppy eyes. Derek struggled to maintain his suave dark lord expression as Manwe hugged him back. "I love this gesture, brother," he added, and all the windchimes in the room clinked in a surprisingly synchronized harmony as winds rushed in through the barely functional flowy curtains."There, there," Derek ineptly patted Manwe’s back as he tried to calm down the supposed king of Arda."Whatever you are planning will hurt less if you keep Manwe out of this." Derek would have been caught off guard if not for the last two hours of hearing every moment of the peak of Taniquetil. You call it a perk; he calls it an annoyance.With a no-nonsense declaration, Varda walked in, followed by Namo and Vaire. The trio power-walked into the room, and Derek felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. At this point, it was difficult to know if it was his own memories or Melkor’s that rang sirens in his mind.Noticing Namo’s deadbeat look, Derek snapped out of his internal contemplation. "I really don’t have enough memories to finesse an evil scheme," the trio looked at him unimpressed. Derek felt the urge to scream, ‘This is the truth,’ but he restrained his growing weariness over the matter."What did you do? Hit your head in the nothingness of the void?" Namo prompted another question. He seemed to be awfully confident in talking that way to a dark lord. Derek, for a fleeting moment, contemplated pulling a Melkor and running away from the confrontation. However, he immediately stopped his train of thought when Varda stepped forward as if reading his thoughts.Chuckling nervously, Derek stepped back to avoid any contact with the queen of Valinor. "Well, not the most welcoming bunch here, are we?" The trio did not appreciate his attempt at humor. Instead, they looked at him with the gaze of a predator.Stuck in the loop of aimlessly rambling, Derek continued to fill the silence in the room. "I don’t even know where we are…what can I even do? You could erase me from existence, and I wouldn’t even be able to defend myself." At this point, he was pretty sure he was too OOC for Melkor. Very soon, Manwe would figure it out, and then possibly yeet him back into the void. Or worse, interrogate him for Melkor’s soul, which he had no idea about."You don’t know how to use your powers?" Vaire spoke, and Derek noticed both Namo and Varda cringe. It sounded like a perfectly good question and conversation starter to him. Vaire, at the very least, remained pleasantly civil to him."I have powers?" Like a civilized person, Derek asked in return, hoping to initiate a conversation that did not involve murder, threats, or scary glares. Vaire looked visibly intrigued as she prepared to answer. Maybe he could salvage something-“Great. Sounds good,” Varda spoke before Vaire could answer him. Well, he knew he had powers now.
Derek and Vaire: 1
Varda and Namo: 0
The door slammed shut as Varda, Namo, and Vaire (for some weird reason that Derek didn't ask about) power-walked out of Melkor’s rooms.BAM!Derek almost shat his pants (if a Vala could do that). “What now?” he questioned into the air. He assumed it was one of the trio members, passionate representatives of PMA (Protect Manwe Association).His life flashed before his eyes as, in a flurry of moments, Derek landed on his back on a bed tucked away in the corner. Even with his excellent Vala perk night vision, he could not discern the darkness that loomed over him.“Who…” his voice trailed into an awkward crack. Derek barely controlled the urge to squeal when a light touch tickled his cheek seductively.“Did you forget me, my lord?” a cloying voice answered as Derek noticed two fiery red eyes staring back at him.
In the upcoming episode of "I Dropped College to Become a Dark Lord,"
“Forgive me, my lord,” Mairon dramatically bowed in front of Manwe, who nervously looked at Varda.While bowing, the red-haired Maia stole a glance at Melkor and subtly winked at the Vala who sat next to his brother.“Oh, lord Manwe,” Mairon rose, and Manwe flinched as Mairon leaned in close to the King of Valinor. “Please allow me to repent next to-“In true Valinorian fashion, the doors slammed open. At this point, even Derek found himself getting used to the cultural norm of aggression towards doors or hinges of any sort.“MAIRON!” Screaming at the top of his lungs, Aule walked in.
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Manwe feels it before anyone else can. His steps carry him to his brother’s room with the urgency of Arda collapsing. The peaks of Taniquetil are quiet, unlike Manwe’s inner turmoil. He fears the return of the one whom his brother once sought the most. Ripping open Melkor’s door, Manwe's fears come true. There in the dark, he sees his brother under the fire-haired Maia, the bane of the entire Valinor, Mairon. Rage fills him as he takes in the scene of a horrified Melkor and a smug Mairon. How dare he...the king of Arda marches forward to rescue his brother from the clutches of Aule’s wretched Maia, the one who ran away when his brother was captured, the one who left Melkor to bear the burden of the Void alone. The one his brother never once named in any of his crimes. Manwe feels wronged on his brother’s behalf. "How dare you come here?" He who abandoned Melkor now returns when his brother is at his most vulnerable. Both Melkor and Mairon turn to look at Manwe, who power walks towards them with fuming nostrils. Derek tries to pry the strange man off of him. He has no idea who this ginger-haired individual is, but judging by Manwe's enraged expression, he fears either losing a limb or witnessing Manwe burst a vein. The ginger, however, does not relent in his hold. Derek contemplates whether it is the crazed look in the ginger's eyes or the lightning that surrounds Manwe that is scarier. Managing to slither away from the strange man's grip, Derek intervenes before Manwe can smite the ginger, who has now made himself strangely comfortable on Melkor's bed. "I am wounded by this lacking welcome, my lord," the ginger purrs, cuddling into the bed that very much belongs to Melkor. "I came here for you, my lord. I came from very far away." Before Derek can even begin to decipher the relationship between this metaphorical catboy and Melkor, Manwe's patience seems to have run out. Momentarily blinded, it takes a while for Derek to realize what has happened. All that is left of the pristine balcony with remarkable views is a cliff. Lightning thunders in the sky, and Derek contemplates pushing both Manwe and the ginger off the cliff that has resulted from their dispute. "Brother," Derek tries to bend Melkor's muscles into what seems to be the motions of a smile. But looking at Manwe's horrified expression, it seems to have little effect. Unfazed, Derek continues. "What is going on? Who is this?" When in doubt, pull the uwu card. “Forgive me, my lord,” Mairon dramatically bows in front of Manwe, who nervously looks at Varda. While bowing, the red-haired Maia steals a glance at Melkor and subtly winks at the Vala who sits next to his brother. “Oh lord Manwe,” Mairon rises, and Manwe flinches as Mairon leans in close to the king of Valinor. “Please allow me to repent next to-“ In the true Valinorian fashion, doors slam open, and at this point, even Derek finds himself getting used to the cultural norm of aggression towards doors or hinges of any sorts. “MAIRON!” Screaming at the top of his lungs, Aule walks in. “Just what we needed,” Mandos mutters under his breath, not even trying to hide it. Aule’s passionate march is followed by another called Yavanna. “By the Timeless Halls, Aule, can you not be so dramatic every damn time?” Aule does not even bother with a response to Vala's complaint. An average married couple. However, in the entire hall, Ulmo’s eyes seem to be glued to one person. Melkor. No matter how hard Ulmo tries not to be involved in this mess, he cannot help but notice the emotionally constipated look on Melkor’s face. On any regular day, Melkor would not hesitate to grace anyone and everyone with a horrifying smirk or even the infamous evil laughter, a feature available to villains across genres. But this Melkor is different. It is almost as if he is in the constant state of shitting his pants. But Ulmo would never say that out loud. He has an image to keep. He has to be the smart one, the mysterious aloof guy. While everyone else in the room does their best to avoid acknowledging Ulmo's bedroom eyes fixed on Melkor, there is one exception: Mairon, who openly glares at Ulmo for gazing seductively at his lord. Aule, on the other hand, is busy devising various uses for Melkor's flesh, while Tulkas is sizing up Melkor against his newest weapons. In a rare moment, Irmo finds himself feeling a surge of pity for Melkor. Damn, maybe the Void would have been kinder. Perhaps that was why Melkor initially avoided returning to the Valar. “Calm down, Aule,” Varda speaks as the only voice of reason in a room full of lost cases. “Have you not found your maia? All is well now, is it not?” Dare say no, and I’ll personally make it alright for you, a threat that goes unsaid. "Your maia has returned; take him with you," Varda declares, her words reverberating through the hall. Manwe smiles brightly at his queen, and the clouds that had gathered finally disperse from the sky, bringing relief to Melkor. Once again, Varda emerges victorious as the ultimate girl boss. Too soon, the fates whisper. No, for real, Derek hears it in his ears before the ginger, now known to Melkor as Mairon, pushes away from Aule’s control and kneels in front of Melkor. “You cannot allow this. I serve you. I am your maia, not his,” pleading eyes full of passion stare at Melkor. Silence prevails. Even Aule is too shocked to move. “You promised,” the voice that fills the room is unlike any other that Derek has been privy to during his time in Arda. It is broken, scratched, the voice of a parched man. “I am your follower. I will not go to him.” Vehemently shaking his head, Mairon bows his head. And Derek feels it. A deep-rooted sorrow. Maybe it is humanity or Melkor’s lingering conscience. But the slight pinch in his heart makes Derek’s hand stop Mairon in mid-motion. “I will take responsibility.” He speaks with the certainty of a true 100% authentic Vala. Eru would be a proud dad had he not been an absent dad in the first place. “I will make this right,” he speaks to the maia who, like a maniac, is instantly smiling from his act of bawling seconds ago. Turning to Manwe, Derek resists the urge to flee. "Brother, from what I gather, I am to blame for this. I am the one who corrupted Mairon," he continues, noticing the precise moment when Manwe physically cringes. "Please, let me make this right." Yes, this is what he needed to do. The voices of fate are quiet, so this has to be it, right? Turning his attention to Aule, Melkor takes a bold step closer to the Vala, despite the alarms blaring in his mind. "Though I do not remember the debts I owe you, I will return your Maia to you, free of my corruption." He can feel the burning gazes of Manwe, Varda, Eonwe hidden in some damned corner, and Mairon searing into his back. "Mairon will return to you of his own free will, and I will ensure it," Derek affirms. Seated in the chill corner of the hall, Irmo and Mandos watch the entire scene unfold, while Nienna diligently documents every moment. Constant tears make it hard, but the hustle and grind never stop. The latest version of this story will wreck Tirion for sure. Next time on- I Dropped College to Become a Dark Lord~As he glanced around the room, his eyes fell upon a mirror. Steadying himself against a wave of dizziness, he staggered toward it, dread gnawing at his gut. What he saw in the mirror shattered any lingering hopes of this being a terrible dream. Staring back at him was not the visage of Melkor, the Dark Lord of Middle-earth, but that of a completely unfamiliar face—a young man with disheveled hair and an expression of sheer bewilderment. Also, a sheet of paper stuck to his chin through his drool. The realization hit him like the fortress of Utumno.
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“You’re going to drive on Autobahn? Dude that’s fucking awesome!” a random guy at the bar pats Melkor’s back. “Yeah, then I will be attending Coachella with some homies,” Melkor adds and watches as the entire group lights up with awe. He loved it. The attention, the admiration, and most of all the freedom. In this world where none could limit his creation…he was an engineer, a respectable title for a being like him. Not even the One could limit him anymore. He had even managed to change his name to Melkor much to the horror of the body, ie Derek’s parents. Fuck. Mairon would have loved this. Derek wakes up to what he has come to name, Mairon’s death grip. His limbs are held in a tight embrace by the Maia who declared the futility of sleep only to follow his darling lord to the bed at the first available chance. Derek, who despite being in the body of an angelic being, very much desired sleep was too tired to hold back the ginger who does not hesitate to transform into a cat if need be it. Now Manwe would have expressed his disapproval, was he not sulking already. The decision to keep Mairon next to him seemed to have ruffled Manwe’s feathers. That in addition to appeasing Aule had drained Derek to the point of him almost flicking Eonwe off. But now as he lays next to a smug Mairon, he can’t help but regret dismissing Manwe’s offer of a separate room. “My lord, you slept so peacefully,” Mairon rests his head on Derek’s chest and despite not knowing a thing about Melkor, Derek feels his heart skip a beat. “I could not stop staring at your peaceful countenance.” Alarm bells go off in Derek’s dazed but paranoid brain. He gets up extracting himself from Mairon’s arms. “You should have gone to sleep too. It must have been boring.” Mairon chuckles hearing Derek’s very much of a serious suggestion. “My lord you never fail to amaze me,” the Maia purrs before morphing into his feline form as Manwe storms into Melkor’s room. The King of Arda, dressed in his finery was all but perfect leave for the frown between his brows. “Good morning brother,” Derek smiled to the best of his ability, he had for the past few days trained Melkor’s stiff facial muscles to stretch into a small but discernable and exponentially harmless smile. Manwe for a fleeting moment pauses in his path before inevitably dissolving his rage to greet his brother with a curt “Good morning to you as well brother,” very much to his dwindling will tries to ignore how the smug Maia in his brother’s lap seems to be mocking him. “What brings you here brother?” Melkor gets up from the bed, walking to Manwe. A slight sense of satisfaction fills Manwe as his brother puts the damned Maia off his lap. It only increases when Melkor ignores the cat’s whines to give him, his brother, complete attention. Turning back to his brother Manwe finds more joy in his heart than he had anticipated. Perhaps the day would be better than he had expected. “Brother, Ingwe has invited us to an evening of celebration at his court. I believe it will be good for you to step outside of Taniquetil…” Manwe’s voice trails to silence as he watches the bamboozled look on his brother’s face. “Ingwe?” Melkor asks with a literal question mark hovering over his head. “Who may that be brother? I…” he looks away sheepishly. SHEEPISHLY. Manwe’s brother was acting shy. Storing away his elder brother’s truly adorable expression for another moment of solitude, Manwe switches to the professionalism of the king of Arda as he explains the existence of elves. A meeting that stretches well into the evening. Extensive charts, pin boards, family trees that Maia of Yavanna was quite unnecessarily summoned to Taniquetil for. “So to sum it up,” Melkor sighs as he stares at the mess of Manwe’s handwriting trying to differentiate like the 12th variation of some Finwe, “Elves literally moved ocean apart to escape me, and now…brother you wish to unite me, the source of their trauma to them.” He threw a questioning look at Manwe whose enthusiastic smile froze at his words. “Brother despite your good intentions, I do not think I will be a welcomed presence in any of these elven courts. I would have to decline this proposal.” Derek picked up the sulking cat and put it in his lap, he needed something to do with his hands so petting a literal Maia it was. Trembling hands were not a good look for the fucking dark lord much to Derek's dismay. “Plus, I love being here. I like your place and the room you have generously given me.” Manwe’s instant frown was all that Derek needed to know about the effectiveness of his argument. “I will allow you to be isolated again,” the room filled with turbulent winds. “I allowed it once and I lost you brother. Not again.” Manwe sits next to him, clutching his hands in his own. “This invitation is not an offer but an order.” Thus, the fate of the elves of Valinor and the college student in the body of the dark lord was sealed by a sulking brother. His lord is different. Mairon knew it from the glance when his lord looked at him with a look devoid of ever-present lust and greed. His lord is…how to put it…gentle…? Even with the brother he had once seen as an eternal enemy. His lord, who in the past had not once cared for his feline form, now seemed to be taken by his paws. It was quite a sight to watch his lord coo at him as he kneaded the blankets. Pets, treats…tricks…his lord preferred him as a cat rather than the alluring bright form of seduction that had once been the house favorite. “Oh. My. God!” his lord exclaims as he kisses his paws. “Aren’t you the cutest?” His lord coos at him and Mairon given how shameless he is, plays into the role of a perfect pet. Not a twisted 'I give in to your control pet' but a genuine pg 13 pet. He becomes Melkor's emotional support kitty just to be cuddled by his lord. And in the deepest recesses of his mind, he cannot deny how much he likes it compared to the mess in Utumno. At night, when his lord sleeps (much to everyone’s shock, Irmo thinks it’s the trauma from the Void), Mairon switches back to his form as he rests his head on his lord’s chest. “I have missed you, lord,” he mutters quietly. “And somehow I am still missing you. Even with you next to me.” He gazes at the gaunt features on his lord’s face. How much had he endured in the Void alone? Perhaps losing his memories was for the best. And if forsaking his dream was what his lord craved for then, Mairon would follow him in that too.
In the upcoming episode of "I Dropped College to Become a Dark Lord,"
Dark Lord of Arda Spotted
Wild Party at Ingwe's: Sources say Melkor has made quite a comeback
Drunk and wildly dancing dark lord of Arda (Insert image)
Official Bad Boy of Arda Return with a Bang!
20 Trends Inspired by the Dark of Arda
Headlines flood the streets of Valinor with the fresh gossip of the dark lord's first public appearance.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Had Melkor always been this…adorable. No, that word felt wrong associated with the dark lord, the official bad boy of Arda. Ulmo averted his eyes from the Vala, who sat muttering quietly by his shores. It had been hours now, at first the Lord of waters had rushed his conscience to this very inconspicuous stream suspecting to catch Melkor in some evil scheme of his. A well-concealed spring covered by flora and fauna to avoid eyes…surely there had to be something weird. So, it is had come as a surprise when Ulmo almost walked in on Melkor napping by the stream…napping so carelessly? “Ugh this is good. Do you think Manwe, or Mairon will be here soon? I hope none find me before I get back…especially not Eonwe.” The said dark lord was taken by the task of stacking pebbles building an elaborate fort, as elaborate stream-side pebbles and rocks permitted. A small damn had been built by a puddle of water. An intriguing sight for Ulmo. And if Ulmo lingered a little longer than needed...it was solely for the purpose of Arda and it's safety from the wretched villain building pebble damns by his stream. Mairon chuckled, a low rumble that sent shivers down the spines of the nearby flora (or at least that's what they desperately hoped). "They fear you, my lord," he purred, his arm linked possessively with Derek's. The once bustling path had become a deserted avenue as news of Melkor and his lieutenant's morning stroll had spread like wildfire. Derek, still not entirely accustomed to the sheer power he wielded, cast a nervous glance around. Everywhere he looked, heads dipped, bodies scurried, or sudden interest erupted in the intricate patterns of cobblestones. However, unused to the sudden boost of power, Derek the engineering major struggled to maintain the overbearing bearing of Melkor the dark lord. Trying to project an aura of brooding menace, Derek attempted a Melkor-esque scowl. He suspected it landed somewhere between "constipated owl" and "slightly confused puppy." A flicker of amusement danced in Mairon's fiery eyes, but thankfully it remained unspoken. However, to his utter bewilderment, this "concussed Melkor" persona seemed to hold a strange appeal for Varda, the Lady of Light. Every time their eyes met (which, admittedly, wasn't often – staring into the face of a literal goddess tended to make him blink excessively), a flicker of something…dare he say acceptance? danced in her usually serene eyes (which seemed to annoy Eonwe to no end). Derek, ever the pragmatist (or at least, the pragmatist Derek used to be), wasn't entirely sure how to handle this mess of a family and the absent father that Illuvatar remained to be. Desperate to change the subject before the conversation veered towards "Melkor's inevitable betrayal" territory (a conversation that invariably led to breakdowns lasting hours – breakdowns even the blind-sighted brother Manwe would be forced to acknowledge), Derek blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Did you visit Aule in his forge yet?" Derek winced inwardly. He knew this wasn't Mairon's favorite topic. A weekly meeting with Aule had been Derek’s first order for Mairon, who seemed to have bargained it to last no more than an hour. "It was meh," Mairon replied, his voice devoid of the usual enthusiasm that accompanied his detailed recounting of even the most mundane events. Despite all the efforts put in place, Mairon denied vehemently to return to his Vala. To Mairon, Melkor was his Vala. His master. Both in aesthetic and school of thought. The latter, however, was of less consequence as even with Derek’s inability to act like Melkor, Mairon remained ever faithful to the imposter that held nothing of his master. To Mairon, it didn't seem to matter. Melkor was Melkor, no matter how…concussed he appeared. The blind devotion both terrified and fascinated Derek. And that, was enough of a reason for him to exploit every possible means to make Mairon, Aule's problem. That was set to put things in place. Undo the misery that was Derek-Melkor's impromptu fate – he'd let fate handle the rest. Inwardly, Derek couldn't help but wonder if the benevolent act of reuniting a Maia with his master was a grand enough act to catch Illuvatar's attention. Perhaps the creator god would take pity and offer some answers for this bonkers episode. A flicker of hope, faint as a dying ember, ignited within him. "Your smile..." Mairon's whisper yanked Derek back to the present. The Maia's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and…awe? "It is the same. The scheming grin." Mairon's voice held a hint of reverence. "What are you scheming, my lord?" He asked, a Cheshire smirk spreading across his face, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint. A cold dread washed over Derek. Mairon wasn't as oblivious as he'd hoped. The excitement in the Maia's voice sent shivers down his spine. Had Mairon figured out Derek's true identity? Or was he simply relishing the idea of causing chaos, regardless of the target? With a calculated grin mirroring Mairon's, Derek leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Just thinking," he said, "if this lieutenant of mine, can fool the Vala of the forge for a second time." The words, which would have sounded like utter bullsh*t in Derek's normal voice, were suave and tempting in the villainous timbre that most girls (and apparently Mairon) fawned over. "Think you can do it, Mairon? Deceive Aule of your loyalty? Make a game of his fragile faith?" The result didn't surprise Derek. Perhaps for the first time since becoming Melkor, a twisted sense of relief washed over him. They had been wise to walk away from the bustling market and onto a quiet, secluded trail. Distance wasn't the only concern; discretion was paramount. Mairon, however, seemed unfazed by the potential consequences. He beamed at his "lord" with the intensity of a sunflower worshipping the sun. "My lord," Mairon purred, his voice dripping with a sinister amusement that sent a fresh wave of unease coursing through Derek. "Deceiving Aule is but a simple task. But know this," his voice lowered, a hint of something akin to a threat lacing his words, "you cannot get rid of me. I will wreck Aule and return to you as I always have." Great. Just amazing. Derek wanted to scream, but all that came out was a strangled cough. Wreck Aule? This whole thing was supposed to be about getting Mairon away from him, not unleashing him on the Valar of crafts! His carefully crafted plan had transformed into a multi-headed hydra, each head snapping hungrily at his sanity. Internally, Derek slammed his fist against the nonexistent doors of Illuvatar's celestial customer service department. 'Illuvatar,' he screamed in his mind, 'This is a warranty issue! This Melkor body clearly came with a malfunctioning lieutenant attachment! 'Screw you,' Derek screamed internally, his silent plea echoing against the blocked doors of Illuvatar's telepathic intercom. He wasn't even sure if a god with severe parental issues even had a voicemail.
Derek Sanders. I am coming for you.
A simple note that did not budge an inch in Manwe’s insanely windy palace. A single feather that acted as an unbelievable paper weight. Derek almost expected it to be made of metal. But was just a feather under his touch. A simple silver feather. Now, our engineer in making would have done something had his entire being not focused on the contents of the note. Someone in this world knew of him. A being with feathers with magical abilities…Derek didn’t have to go far to find one such Melkor-obsessed being. (Derek stared in the distance, clutching the feather as a distant cloaked figure, who could have been easily spotted irl gazed at his broad, sexy, jacked back from a poorly hidden nook)
Next Time on IDCTBDL
Derek: I can explain Manwe
Manwe (Indignant): Manwe? Is that how you address me now?
Derek: Forgive me. I really did not know. It was out of my control m-
The doors of the grand hall slammed open with a resounding boom, the hinges groaning in protest despite Aule's claims of eternal durability. (Cue dramatic entry music)
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Derek shuddered, the cold marble floors sending a chill up his spine. 'It's...morose,' he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. He finishes his thought staring back at the Maia by his side, ignoring the one lingering outside the doors. Next to him, Mairon pranced around the room, dusting the fireplace. 'It's mad at you,' he replied. “Mad at me? Who?” Derek questioned, a shiver running down his spine. “The House,” Mairon answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Or might I call this darling piece, The Gloaming?” He knelt down petting the fur carpet as if greeting a fond pet. As if on cue, the room filled with a soft glow from candles and lamps that Derek hadn't noticed before which was insanely odd given, he possessed the sight of Melkor. A quite literal angelic figure. Albeit a fallen one. After ensuring that his little flinch of surprise had indeed gone unnoticed, Derek or formidable Melkor stepped into the hall lined with threadbare velvet curtains that somehow managed not to gather a touch of dust over the centuries of unkemptness or simply burn the entire place down by catching fire from the uncovered lamps placed conveniently close to them. The Gloaming seemed to huff in annoyance, the flickering candles almost seeming to hiss. It was as if the manor itself were expressing its displeasure at its lost master, who seemed to love undermining it after such a long-awaited reunion. All this Mel- Derek felt projected in his thoughts, which was not creepy at all. He turned to Mairon, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The manor... is sentient?" His voice was barely a whisper. But his eyes were already drawn to Eonwe, who was sulking on the doorstep like a kicked kitten." Mairon, now draped dramatically over an emerald green chaise, beamed at him. "Well yes, you created this little bean, with your flame my lord." Holy Arda, Derek cried in his mind. Why on earth had the Dark Lord chosen this way to project his creative streak? A sentient house? This was beyond bizarre. Mairon’s idea of the little bean was apparently the fucking massive manor that seemed to be made of Manwe’s worst nightmare. The exact opposite of Taniquetil’s angelic bright halls. This was the dream of every goth’s waking and sleeping thoughts. “And why cannot Eonwe come in?” Melkor asks. To which Mairon simply raises an offended eyebrow, an offense taken on the behalf of The Gloaming, it is a house with a soul and a taste, my lord!” His lips form into a sulking pout, which Derek concerningly notices as a frequent expression carried by those lips. "The Gloaming would never tolerate nonsensical guests," the Maia grumbled, his voice a low rumble. He ran his hands through the tassels hanging from the cushion he rested his head on, as if soothing a petulant child. It was as if he were joining the house in its protest. Unwillingly yet with growing frequency, Derek felt a warmth in Melkor, the Dark Lord's silly little heart. The warmth was so familiar, so similar to the feeling of homecoming after a long semester. It filled him with comfort yet also with a deep sense of loss, the angst of a lost world. And a lost self. And this angst was more at home in the halls of The Gloaming compared to the astounding beauty of Taniquetil. Mairon's heart had never known a home as it did in The Gloaming, not even the palaces of Middle-earth. The Gloaming was his lord's, the closest thing to his lord's heart. It held his lord's warmth, his fire, his flame. Palaces Mairon had plenty, but The Gloaming was home. And even now, as he saw his lord's suspiciously wet eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of peace. They had returned home. A place where he could finally be with his lord. With the exception of Eonwe, who seemed intent on taking his lord back to the damned Taniquetil, to the weeping fool of a king. But Mairon was no weakling. His lord would not return. No matter what The Gloaming, whose whining presence reminded Mairon of decade-old elflings, would not lose its master again. And if that caused Manwe a few breakdowns, then that was worth it. And here, he will make his lord fall in love with him once again. He will convince his lord to let go of his ridiculous fit of returning him to Aule.The Gloaming had slept for a long time. It mourned the loss of its master, its black, impenetrable curtains and closed doors and windows a testament to its grief. With its master and friend gone, it fell silent. Unable to feel the thrumming thoughts of its master's mind, its consciousness drooped, and it fell into a drowsy languor. In its sleep, The Gloaming dreamed of the past. It remembered the nights it had mischievously warded off his master's room from his friend. It remembered how the sweet delights that it conjured brought a smile to its master's face, in the secrecy of his room. It also couldn't forget its master's servants who had once wandered its halls. And in the stillness and silence of such aloofness, it grieved the liveliness of its past. In moments of inconsolable sorrow, it whimpered in its emptiness. Like a child lacking playmates, it crashed plates, slammed doors, and created false chatter of its own, but it made little difference. The Gloaming remained untouched, save for a few wicked elflings who seemed to want to break into its master's rooms. But The Gloaming, in its loyalty, never let anyone else in. That is until, ages later, it felt a sudden rush of awakening. Lost in the drowsiness of its slumber, The Gloaming awoke to its master's familiar presence. Close, yet achingly far. And then, as if life rushed into it, it felt the closeness of its past friend even closer. At its doorstep, it flung open its door to see its past friend, now weary but equally fond of The Gloaming as he had been in the past. In a moment of joy unrivaled, The Gloaming surged with a will to please. It presented its friend with the delicacies of the past. It roused the lamps and lit the hearth. It welcomed Mairon, who slumped down on its plush carpet to greet it. "I will bring him back," its friend promised, whispering softly. "We will return to you, The Gloaming."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
"Ahhhh!""Ahhhhhhh!" another voice echoed back, equally horrified.James blinked into the darkness. One moment, he had been enjoying ice cream with Princess Diana in what he assumed was a perfectly normal, if slightly bizarre dream. Now, he was somewhere else entirely, yanked into an unfamiliar scene."It is I, Beleg!" Hands shot out of the gloom and grabbed James’ flailing arms.Before him stood a glimmering figure, tall and imposing, with the kind of ethereal glow only an elf could pull off. Behind Beleg, another figure shuffled nervously, looking just as confused as James felt."What the fuck?" James whispered, his heart pounding as he squinted at the elf. His brain finally caught up. "Beleg Cuthalion? The guy from The Silmarillion? The chad who dies? Holy shit!" His gaze shifted to the gleaming blade in Beleg’s hand. "Is that… Anglachel? Oh my God, it’s the doom sword. The smooth, freaky sword of doom! Later to be forged as Gurthang." James barely resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.Beleg nodded gravely, as though James’ outburst made perfect sense. "Yes, I am Beleg."James’ brain short-circuited. He needed to cut back on caffeine before bed."And I am Gwindor," the other elf added, stepping forward with an awkward smile.James blinked, his fascination growing. Of all the moments from The Silmarillion to dream about, his subconscious had dumped him into The Children of Hurin. The part with the most tragic, dramatic nonsense. Clearly, his inner mind was a sadist.Without thinking, James grabbed Beleg’s hands. "Don’t do it," he hissed. "Don’t save Turin Turambar. That guy is a walking disaster. Leave him to his tragic fate, trust me. It’ll save you a lot of trouble."Beleg frowned, his expression skeptical but patient. He didn’t pull away as James, gripped by sheer desperation, began to recount everything. He talked about Turin’s endless brooding, the accidental wife situation, and, of course, the dragon.Gwindor, meanwhile, looked increasingly uncomfortable. His eyes flicked to Beleg, silently asking if this was normal behavior.As Beleg led them through the dark woods, James marveled at his dream stamina. Somehow, he was keeping up with the elves’ impossibly fast pace. He wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline, dream logic, or sheer pettiness driving him forward.Maybe this was his chance to rewrite The Silmarillion. Who needed Turin when you could have political drama and Thingol being weirdly tall? James began plotting. He could convince Beleg to return to Thingol’s court. Maybe even get a peek at Queen Melian’s mysterious magic. This dream was shaping up nicely.Eventually, they reached Turin’s camp. Beleg’s heart twisted as he gazed at his friend, now a shell of the proud warrior he remembered. Turin sat hunched by the fire, his initial enthusiasm at seeing Beleg replaced by awkward detachment.Gwindor stared into the flames, his voice hesitant. "It isn’t unheard of. Perhaps the orcs… tampered with his mind. He will recover. At least Queen Melian should know."Beleg nodded glumly. Something was deeply wrong. Turin rambled about visions where Beleg was slain by his hand and spoke of himself as though he were a stranger. The madness in his friend’s eyes was unlike anything Beleg had seen before.Meanwhile, James crouched by a river, staring at his reflection. His very handsome reflection."Wait," he muttered, tilting his head. "This isn’t me."The face staring back was sharper and stronger, with piercing gray eyes and long dark hair. Freakishly tall now, James, a proud short king that he was, couldn’t entirely hate the change. But the realization hit him like a boulder."Oh, come on," he groaned, burying his face in his hands. He had transmigrated into Turin Turambar’s body.Standing stock-still in the clearing, James or Turin, if you prefer looked up, wide-eyed. Beleg and Gwindor turned to him, concern etched across their faces.To their shock, James began to laugh. The sound was wild and unhinged, echoing through the woods like a battle cry. Birds scattered. Squirrels fled. Even the trees seemed to lean away in discomfort."Fuck you, Morgoth!" James roared, his grin widening. "Here I come!"In Angband, Morgoth frowned. The sudden, inexplicable dread that filled him was a foreign sensation. Somewhere, the melody of Arda trembled, a discordant note twisting through the fabric of the world.Hurin, chained high in his seat of torment, glanced down into the woods below. His breath hitched. His son, standing alongside two elves, was giggling with a manic gleam in his eye. For the first time in years, Hurin felt a pang of something other than despair.James caught his father’s distant gaze and gave a little wave, his grin bordering on maniacal."The game is on," he whispered to the skies before skipping back toward Beleg and Gwindor, leaving behind a clearing filled with scattered leaves and stunned silence.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
A baby. Manwe put a literal baby in Derek’s lap.Even Derek, who was notoriously bad at gauging baby ages, could tell this elven baby was longer, taller, and way more elf-y than any baby he’d ever seen. The kid had legs for days, which, despite Derek’s dark lord-sized lap, still managed to dangle over the edge awkwardly.The ginger baby, oblivious to the absurdity of the situation, grinned up at him, a smile that radiated an almost criminal amount of joy.Derek stared back. This wasn’t just any baby. This was Maedhros. Nelyafinwe. Maitimo. The exasperated, older brother of the century. Or, as the fangirls liked to call him, “the sad sexy one.” Except now, he was just… a baby. So Derek mentally crossed that title out with a big red marker.“Googoo gaga,” Derek whispered, leaning down with what he hoped was a convincing imitation of a Valar’s solemn tone. Then, because why not, he added, “Don’t trust Ulfang.” It felt necessary. He made a mental note to workshop a similar line for Turgon if it ever came up.The baby stared back at him, deadpan. Tiny brows furrowed in what could only be described as silent condemnation. Then, clearly unimpressed by Derek’s spoiler-heavy blessing, baby Maedhros kicked him squarely in the chin.Curufinwe, his father, Feanor himself—snorted loudly at this. Next to his wife who made a point to glare at her husband. “My turn,” Ulmo said, extending his arms with the sort of authority that made it impossible to refuse. Melkor, with visible reluctance, handed over the giant infant to the Vala of the seas.This, apparently, offended Mairon so deeply that he immediately abandoned whatever ridiculous scheme he’d been pulling on Aule and stalked over to Derek.“I shall assist my lord,” Mairon huffed, snatching the baby from Derek and shoving it toward Ulmo, his movements practically vibrating with righteous indignation. He then yanked Derek’s arms away, as though they’d somehow been sullied by the handoff.Later, this entire exchange would be immortalized in Nienna’s journal, though her creative interpretation included all three Ainur notably unclothed and depicted in what could only be described as… passionate dramatics.But Derek wasn’t paying attention to any of that. His focus remained on the elf who, just minutes ago, had managed to reignite the single most polarizing debate in Derek’s old friend group: “Feanor did nothing wrong” versus “Feanor did everything wrong.”The answer now sat right in front of him, glaring at him with the passion of a thousand suns.Derek’s gaze shifted briefly to the intricately carved cradle that rocked itself in the corner, powered by what had to be elven magic. He had to admit, crown prince Curufinwe could probably do no wrong. Nor, for that matter, could his wife, Nerdanel whose biceps, he suspected, were the product of some divine workout regimen he’d gladly take notes on.Feanor stared at Melkor. Melkor, in turn, stared unblinkingly at Russo’s cradle with an intensity that was unnerving on far too many levels. But then again, it wasn’t nearly as unsettling as Ulmo’s gaze, which seemed fixed on the dark lord like a predator studying its prey.By some cruel twist of fate or perhaps a cosmic joke. Curufinwe found himself alone in the room with the supposed foe of Arda. Melkor, the great dark lord of chaos and ruin, was… chewing his nails. What in the name of the Timeless Halls had happened in the Void?Feanor squinted, studying the dark lord’s every twitch. His curiosity itched at him. This was the dreaded Melkor? The great enemy his father Finwe would preach about with the righteous fury of a sermon? What he saw instead was an anxious figure, more like a teenager crumbling under a strict lesson’s pressure than a legendary destroyer.Even Mairon, that accursed Maia, had been dragged from the room earlier by Aule, who’d needed his lieutenant to finish one of Nerdanel’s many commissioned tools.The silence stretched awkwardly until Feanor’s own curiosity got the better of him. “How did you find the Void, my lord?”Melkor flinched at the question, his face draining of color. With a trembling smile that looked more like a grimace, he shook his head. “Dreary business. The Void is… well, it’s just the Void, you know?”“How do you make the cradle move?” Melkor asked, pointing at the cradle where Maitimo slept soundly.For a fleeting moment, Curufinwe froze. Fear surged through him as he imagined the dark lord’s pointing finger channeling some sinister curse.But Melkor’s question wasn’t followed by chanting or an ominous glow. Just curiosity.Feanor blinked, momentarily thrown off. “The cradle?” he repeated, cautiously sitting down as though to steady himself. “Ah, yes. It’s powered by an alloy of Pilor and Helr. The base creates an oscillating force that distributes evenly across the structure to maintain motion.”Melkor’s eyes widened, his face alight with unexpected enthusiasm. “Pilor? Helr? Fascinating! Are these alloys themselves, or are they pure metals?”“They’re alloys,” Feanor said, his posture easing as Melkor’s interest turned technical. “Pilor is a blend of tetranite and serium—lightweight but strong under tensile stress. Helr has a higher density and is heat-resistant, ideal for stabilizing the cradle’s motion.”“That’s brilliant,” Melkor said, leaning forward. “So, you’re using the weight differential between the two materials to create momentum?”“Yes, exactly!” Feanor replied, a glimmer of pride breaking through his usual caution. “The curvature of the base is calibrated to optimize the transfer of force with minimal friction. It’s a simple harmonic motion setup, really, but the combination of alloys makes it uniquely efficient.”“And the pivot system?” Melkor pressed, his voice quickening with genuine curiosity. “Is it anchored, or are you allowing rotational freedom at the fulcrum?”“Rotational freedom,” Feanor replied, now fully in his element. “The fulcrum uses a ball joint design with a treated Helr coating for durability and smooth motion. It can withstand stress without warping.”Pulling out a handful of trinkets from his pocket, Curufinwe completely forgot about caution. He was too caught up in the sheer joy of explaining every detail. The countless thoughts, experiments, and late-night adjustments that had gone into crafting his son’s cradle. Before long, he’d also started rambling about the lamps he was designing for Tirion’s paths, his voice quivering with excitement.Melkor, surprisingly attentive, leaned in closer with a look of genuine interest, nodding at all the right moments. He asked thoughtful questions, the kind Curufinwe had long given up hoping for from Nerdanel. But alas, in the moment, the crown prince was too lost in his own delight to notice how bizarrely invested his audience was.“This curve here,” Curufinwe said, pointing at a scrap of etched metal with (the pride of a middle-aged dad), “is what ensures the balance. I thought the solution would be a stabilizing counterweight, but instead—”His enthusiastic train of thought was abruptly derailed by the sharp, high-pitched cries of Maitimo, who had clearly decided that enough was enough. The wailing echoed through the halls like a call to arms.Within moments, the doors burst open, and a squad of Manwe’s guards stormed in, spears at the ready, all aimed squarely at Melkor. Their expressions were deadly serious, as though they expected to find the Vala mid-scheme.Instead, they froze, spears slack in their hands, as the scene before them sank in: Crown prince Curufinwe, cradling a wailing infant in his arms, gently rocking him back and forth while murmuring soft words of comfort.And then there was Melkor, crouched beside the cradle with unnerving focus, his hands running over the alloy as if it held the secrets of the universe.Three pairs of eyes turned toward the guards. Maedhros’ judgmental glare was by far the most cutting, his tiny brows furrowing with all the authority an elfling could muster.The guards shuffled backward awkwardly, muttering half-hearted apologies as they retreated.Somehow, by the end of it all, Curufinwe found himself sporting a maddening grin and the beginnings of a strange, yet undeniable camaraderie with the most palatable of the Valar. It was a tale he eagerly narrated to Nerdanel the entire way back to Tirion, though she pointedly refused to comment on his newfound friendship.Just outside the door, where the light didn’t quite reach, a pair of fiery eyes glimmered in the shadows. Mairon stood, unmoving, his gaze fixed on the carefree sight of his lord smiling at the elf.Next to him, Aule prattled on, utterly oblivious, while Nerdanel was preoccupied inspecting a sketch of her latest project.Mairon’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. Why did these insufferable people insist on crowding his lord? Why couldn’t they just leave him alone—leave him all to Mairon?
Next Time on IDCTBDL
Ingwë: My lord, I come bearing an invitation. (The elf bowed low, radiating the practiced elegance of someone who very much feared being set on fire.)Mairon: (Appearing from behind Melkor with a smile that could curdle milk) Ah yes, my lord is busy.Varda: (Interrupting with a blinding smile as she clutched Manwë’s arm) We shall all attend—with Melkor, of course.Melkor: Would the firstborn of Finwë be invited as well? (The room stilled. Somewhere, a paper boat’s future grew uncertain.)The sound of delicate paper tearing echoed ominously.Mairon: (Snapping the boat Melkor had folded for him that morning in half) I’ll kill them all.Doors slammed open, the hinges groaning with the weight of Aulë’s craftsmanship and yet another entry into what Derek now recognized as Valinor’s favorite cultural pastime: dramatic entrances.“My Lord!” A voice bellowed, ringing through the chamber with such force that even Mairon’s fiery rage faltered to a paled clamor.Derek, watching from a safe distance, muttered under his breath, “Yep, definitely a normal Tuesday in Valinor.”
In walked, one of most amazingly named Maiar of Melkor- Gothmog, the lord of Balrogs (who did not have wings)