Mistletoe & Dark Vala: YuleTide at Angband [Lord of the Rings]

Mistletoe & Dark Vala

Melkor harrumphed rather audibly from his fabulously intimidating black throne.

He sighed and, he huffed, and he muttered, and yet still none of his scurrying minions broke rank to enquire of his displeasure.

...How insensitive!  He thought.

His beady coal eyes narrowing into slits as he observed their hassled rushing. Could they not tell he was bothered, bored, and baffled by something? Honestly, sometimes he felt like he had surrounded himself by unintelligible, emotionally stunted, ingrates.

There was no liveliness at Angband anymore; no festivity, rivalry, or general boisterous behaviour. Melkor hated to admit it to himself, but - oh it was painful to think - but even Namo and those tight-laced, uppity, goody-two-shoes, Valar would be merrier than this lot...especially considering the time of year!

After all, it was Yule, and there wasn't even a withered wreath of thorns or squawking carolling orc pack to speak of...this was most depressing. And if there is one secret that the great and terrible 'Morgoth' found difficult to keep, it was that he very much enjoyed Yuletide...he supposed it was something to do with the gifts... he loved getting gifts!

So, being the Dark-lord, he decided that a new tactic should be employed...a tactic he'd picked up from those frilly little pansies known as elves... theatrics.

Now, truth be told, Melkor was quite the thespian. The 'fallen' Vala had a well furnished and long list of notable dramatic and tastefully artistic credits - the one where he and Ungoliant munched up most of Aman was by far his favourite, although his accomplice was an utter drama Queen (and a glutton)! Yes, his dastardly flare was altogether his defining attribute, but the elves had a less appealing yet surprisingly effectual tactic...whinging.

Not just any kind of cry baby whinging, but out and out theatrical displays of utter anguish. I mean Feanor was a star in his own right, he perfected that elvish pout that seemed to have all the other Valar jumping about like crazed crickets!

Not to be outshone by an elf for the world's greatest sulk, Melkor dramatically threw himself over his spiky iron throne, and wailed; an earsplitting and entirely irritating wail of false agony.

He waited a few minutes to see if anyone would bite...silence.

Melkor peeled his arm from its splayed position over his face to inconspicuously peep at his minions, who were all sort of cowering around various dark corners of Angband's great hall. He pouted - a Feanor level pout - and tried another yowl tinged with impatience. This time his persistence was rewarded.

"Is something paining you, Master?"

Melkor gleefully shot upright in his throne, tucking his legs underneath him and hanging over the gleaming onyx arms like an excitable wolf cub. He should have known his trusty lieutenant, his favoured pet, his prodigy, his best minion Sauron, would be the first to answer his Master's pleas of boredom.

"Yes!" Melkor bleated dramatically, and dropped his head into his blackened fingers for added distressed effect; "Sauron, do you know what time of the year it is?"

Sauron rolled his glittering flame eyes and sighed...not this again!

Every year it was the same thing, every single year his Master got his iron garters in a twist over Yule, and Sauron still could not quite grasp the intrigue of it all.

Of all the irksome festivals and celebrations of those confounded Children, Yuletide was the one he loathed the most... yet for some reason Master loved it...it was probably something to do with the gifts.