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There was a calm to the eternal twilight that hovered over the fortress. An odd sort of thought, the Dark Lord supposed, but a true one. Up here, one could not hear the near constant screaming. It did get tiring after a while.
There was something missing.
He would have to descend. There was no other option.
Orcs leapt out of the way, bowing and scraping as he passed. Their eyes found anything else to glance at other than the charred fingers that peeked out of the long sleeves.
Melkor ignored them all. The pleasantries were his lieutenant's idea as executed by the loyal Uruks. Frivolous, but… sweet. Luckily, it hadn't taken away any of the soldiers' brutality or effectiveness.
The heart of the mountain was not the dank, cold, pitch-dark dungeon as expected nor the open, glittering metropolis of a dwarven city. It was bright and blisteringly hot. The stone walls were decorated in twisting metal in all designs ranging from delicate, intricate natural plants to jagged sheets and shards clearly flattened out in fits of rage.
An anvil at the center on a pedestal held his quarry: a figure almost amorphous in form, hazy at the edges, arm hammering down onto the latest creation as if it were a tireless machine.
Melkor watched for a moment, admiring the terrible beauty of the display of power. Truly, it was a privilege to witness his second in command at work; the focus and drive and honed, divine talent. It was a perfect reminder as to why he had chosen the smith in the first place back when the universe was new.
He had never regretted it. Not once.
"Mairon."
The voice was soft, little more than a hiss, but it was enough to slice through the din. Eyes like coals from his own forge glanced up at him, questioning and curious.
"My lord?"
Melkor lifted his sweeping robe off of the floor, not that the soot would stain the dark fabric, and stalked forward, the light of the forge dimming as he approached. The smith laid down his hammer and tongs, project forgotten.
It was fine. It didn’t' have much of a direction anyway. He could always start over and reform it.
"How can I serve you?" asked the glittering creature covered in dust and metal shavings. "What do you require?"
Melkor took the pretty face in his hands, scanning the ethereal features for any kind of hesitation. He smiled.
"Nothing but a reminder, little maia."
Mairon froze as the commander bent down for a kiss. It was a rare occurrence for Melkor to show kindness or affection of any kind, and the smith basked in it when it was freely given. He was not too prideful to ask for it, but instances like this were a treat.
His hands reached up, hands hooking with no small amount of hesitancy into one of the ornate straps over his lover's chest. Melkor was a fickle man and an even more capricious deity. There was no telling what would please him as what would be welcomed one day might enrage him the next.
In this case, the offer was more than graciously accepted; the singed fingers digging and winding and tangling into the smith's iridescent hair, undoing the elaborate knot that held it back from the fire. Melkor openly admired the strange, almost liquid mercury that seemed to reflect every color under the sun. within the forge, it was a river of fire. His own personal living flame.
One with a tether that only drew him closer.
The taller, broader man broke the kiss, ignoring the soot and shrapnel that clung to his lover as he held him tightly. Mairon beamed into his shoulder, keeping his giddy smile all to himself.
"What brought this on, my lord?"
Melkor rested his chin atop the now fluffy nest. "I had forgotten my lantern and needed my light."