When Melkor is released, and he walks among the Eldar for the first time (humbled, humiliated, silently seething, hatred hidden under the repentant’s smile), he seeks for a way to turn the elves against his brethren. It is only fitting. Symmetrical even, and his siblings in the thought of Eru do love their symmetry and order.

But the fawning Vanyar are too busy singing praises to his brother to hear any of his whispers, his barbed offers for knowledge. He grows tired of being ignored (how dare they? He that was-is greatest in the thought of Eru, how dare they) and sighs and feints contriteness and boredom until Nienna takes pity and begs that his parole be widen, so that he may see and appreciate more of his siblings’ creations. They do love to show off their inferior thoughts and the even more pathetic attempts of their so-called students. (His praise to Yavanna for her Trees was not a complete lie, though her husband watched with suspicion for his envy. A simple thing to deflect, to suggest that it was Aulë envious of his wife’s better attempt at large-scale illumination, and he left the pair of idiots sniping at each other in disharmony. That had done much to buoy his dismal spirits.)

So Melkor comes to Tirion with the hope that the second group of elves might prove to be more fitting tools to his purpose. The Noldor are devoted to Aulë above all, and Melkor has had great success there. (If only he can find a way to send a message out to his lieutenant, learn what has survived and begin to rebuild, reassert control). They are supposed to be a more fractious competitive sort, more curious and enamored with new invention. And he is the newest thing in Valinor, so an audience is guaranteed. (The disinterested scorn from those blonde peons should not have stung.) Yet when he arrives in Tirion, he finds yet another Vanyar queen looking down at him with the same faint patronizing smile, assuming that he has coming begging for wisdom from them. Their king, much like the taller blonde one that sits next to his brother Manwë and glares with silent restrained hatred like Tulkas, is more preoccupied with the trivial lives of his many daughters and their children, and even the two sons of Finwë seem as content with each other as Námo and Irmo (He was hoping for a familiar rivalry. Perhaps it is because the two brothers are separate in interest and geography and have an older sister that both defer to). The bone of contention, Melkor discovers after some snooping, has to do with art styles. The elf the Noldor point to as their most celebrated and talented, when they can form a consensus (which is difficult and generates some delightfully discordant arguments) is a daughter of one of Aulë’s biggest sycophants, an ugly little thing called Nerdanel that is the favorite of the Noldor King and Queen. She is a talented sculptress, for an elf, Melkor admits, and he wonders if he can implant the seeds of jealous between her and the royal children. The one most jealous of Nerdanel, however, seems to be another Noldor artist, a lady called Míriel or Broideress. The enmity has to do with the Noldor’s definition of taste and art style, for the older Míriel hates ‘change for change’s sake’ (And Melkor has grown tired of that phrase), the overzealous embrace of new-fangled words, sounds, and lifestyle. Most of all unrealistic art, the way Nerdanel is so clearly talented as to sculpt with fidelity and accuracy the world, and then chooses out of laziness or misguided arrogance to “craft” such abstract and ugly shocking things, daring to label it art. (They’re all children finger-painting in poor imitation of their betters; this whole argument is absurd). Melkor gains some satisfaction when the secret is finally spilled into his ear that once, when the Noldor first arrived, Finwë had sought after Míriel’s hand in marriage, and she had rejected him. She had wanted no distraction from her unparalleled mastery of her craft, little desire for the raising of children, and less for the ruling of a people. Now she misses her opportunity to dictate the customs of the Noldor, mock the young scribes and scientists. Melkor has toeholds here in these fissures of the culture in Tirion to start pulling things apart. But it is not grand, not disastrous enough, to satisfy his hidden need. He ponders that second son married to a princess of the third tribe. He had almost forgotten the Teleri.

Melkor ponders them, that small people clinging to the very edge of Valinor, facing away from the Valar, playing simpleminded children in the sea. How those Teleri had almost not come, had dragged their feet and given excuses- the vast majority of their kin are still in Middle-earth, abandoned by Melkor’s siblings. (His lieutenants are still over there, his unfinished projects, remnants of his strength, and other darker secretive things. If only he can escape back to those things).

Of the Ainur that the Teleri are close to, there is only Ulmo who while no friend of Melkor is rarely present as to notice his machinations (Unlike Tulkas and that damn chain) and Ossë and his wife. Ossë who was once his and more sympathetic to his desires, this will have no challenge.

Melkor smiles and stretches his legs. Soon he thinks he can wheedle those idiots into letting him go to Alqualondë. A simple lie about longing to see the sea should do it. The Teleri will be perfect. Such an easy thing to suggest – they have to ships and there is no ban on where they are allowed to sail. 

Melkor is escaping this place. And then he’ll be back to destroy it.