Thuringwethil sang of the beautiful island which was caught in the blissful glow of Illuin and Ormal as their lights mingled and became one. Her song told of the days long ago when she had danced alone, her hair long and swirling around her as the wind had joined with her in her song. Though her music was joyous, full-throated, rippling with all the energy of the young creation, she was not espoused and danced alone. None among the others had pleased her, no spirit like herself who captured her mood or her fancy. She walked through the forests of beauty, among the great trees which rose up, towering and golden, and marveled at each stem, each leaf, each tiny teardrop of dew that lay glistening in the glow of the Lamps.
She walked by the edge of the water and looked over at the land that lay on the other side, the border between the home of the Valar and what lay beyond. Captivated, she listened as the waters formed their own melodies as they rushed and danced over the shining rocks, then plunged, laughing, down into a gorge where the flow fell in a silver curtain of sprays and plumes, graced by the hues of the rainbow. The world was wondrous in its variety of beauties, but yet her heart longed for more, for a song that she had once heard. This melody stirred unrest inside her that could not be eased by any of the grandeur of the creation of Arda, nor by those fair and beauteous spirits who sometimes sang to her. She, with a haughty turn of her head, had found none which could compare or were as worthy to the Song which echoed in her heart from before Time began.
Kneeling down by the waters, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head upon them. She listened to the melodies of Ossë, but hearkened not to those harmonies. Her heart longed to hear again that other Song heard so long ago. As she thought, she pulled from her soul the strains of that melody which had soared with reckless, demanding ardency, filled with unrestrained potency. The One Who sang the Song could clench the whole of Arda into His mighty fist, and through His daring, create such audacious wonders that all the works of the hands of His brothers and sisters would be superseded, paling to inconsequentialities.
How she longed to hear that Song and to see the Singer once again, but He was far away, and she knew naught whither He had gone. As a silver tear slid down her cheek, she looked up and tried to listen to the singing of the water that rushed by, playfully skipping over the rocks, but she found its melody displeasing to her ears.
From somewhere deep in her soul sounded a faint chord. She looked about and saw no one. Then the chord grew stronger as it neared, but yet she could not glimpse the singer. Slowly the voice grew louder, rising in pitch, its timbre pure and harmonic. She stood up and joined her song with the unknown singer, and as they sang together, there was a new song, and the melody was bold, reckless, alluring, singing with a passion that she had yet to know.
Then before her He appeared in a vision of golden light, His face handsome, majestic, beautiful beyond any that she had seen. His long mane was russet, and when she looked upon those fiery locks, she thought they were the tongues of blazing flames. His robe was of purest white, and His glowing hair hung down to His waist. The long raiment which He wore was carelessly open in the front, down to His middle, and she looked with rapture upon His muscular chest. His golden-brown eyes were proud, arrogant, and hid mysteries that she had yet to know.
She sang a song of wispy beauty, innocent in its purity, but the song that He sang was of great might and potency. His name was known to her, and for a moment, she knew disappointment for she had hoped that it might be Melkor, He of the strident, bold song of the beginning.
The Maia Who sang to her was a helper of Aulë, and His strong, brawny arms gave proof of His prowess at the Forge which had helped to create Arda. The singing had stilled and His amber eyes possessed a light that had not been in them at the beginning. The depths of His golden-brown orbs held unrevealed secrets that His lazy, insolent smile promised.
Standing a distance away from her, He bade her to come to Him. Shyly she approached, frightened yet curious, and new sensations began to tease her heart and body.
"Give Me thy hand," a deep, enticing voice urged her.
She reached out, the tips of her fingers barely touching His, but she did not dare look up at Him, for she knew He was far more powerful than she. In truth, He terrified her. His hand pounced down upon hers as His great fingers spread over her small ones. She dared to look up into His eyes, and saw His scowling face, and she knew that He sensed her hesitation. Slowly, His fingers slipped away from hers and He moved away. Without His nearness, she became sad and forlorn. She bowed her head, and tears came unbidden, unwanted to her eyes.
Then she felt His hands again as He appeared behind her. She closed her eyes as He smoothed His hand down across her bosom. His touch was possessive, arrogant and impertinent, but the mere closeness of His hand had brought tingles of excitement coursing through her. Then His hand was gone again and she cried out, aching for Him. She stood there trembling, fearing that her desires had betrayed her, and she knew shame for the first time.
Then she heard a laugh, golden and rich in tone, and He was there, behind her again. She felt Him brush the raven tresses away from her neck, and then His hands, strong and firm, were about her throat. Her eyes fluttering closed, she sagged weakly against His chest as He fastened a pendant about her neck.
"Open thy eyes and behold My gift," He commanded, His voice husky and rich with desire. His fingers touched the pendant and then flowed down over her breasts, touching her nipples through the thin material.
She opened her eyes and looked down, and there, glowing between her breasts, was a pendant of cunning design, wrought with great craft and set with a stone of cold blue. His strong hands clasped about her yearning breasts, and she slumped against Him more, close to swooning.
"Knowest that thou canst hide nothing from Me, for I know thy mind and the thoughts that lie therein. Thou desirest Me," He boasted as He trailed fingers of fiery passion from her breasts down her stomach. She knew that the heat He raised inside her body betrayed any attempts to gainsay Him that she might venture. Willingly she parted her legs for Him as His hand sought the seat of her passion, and she moaned as great shudders of pleasure washed over her form.
"Wouldst thou know Me?" He murmured in her ear as His wanton fingers seduced betwixt her quivering thighs. She groaned as a sudden paroxysm of delight reverberated off the walls of her secret cavern.
"Oh, yes, yes!" she gasped in ecstasy. Her mind reeled with the new sensations which she felt in her body, and she tried to compose her thoughts, to reason and to judge that which was wise. "But Thou art now in league with the Fallen One," she murmured softly, though her attention was more upon what His fingers were doing to her body, "and Thou walkest dark paths."
"Melkor hast not fallen!" He hissed angrily as He jerked His hands away from her as though they had been scalded with the venom of a great serpent. Stalking silently, He stood in front of her and folded His arms across His bare alabaster chest.
With an angry toss of His head, He shrugged a great tumult of His fiery mane over His left shoulder. "It is they, our kindred, who have plunged foolishly into a quagmire of their own lies, languishing there, struggling, disavowing the only One worthy to rule and favoring the insipid Manwë! Thou listened to His song at the Making, and thou hearkened unto it then, though thou wert weak in thy resolve. Another chance hast come unto thee. Promise that thou wilt leave with Me when the time is ready and forsake forever Almaren and our kindred, and vow with Me undying loyalty to Melkor, the True Master of Arda!"
"And leave behind all that I know?" she asked, hurt. "My lord, who indeed may be insipid, and my kindred whom I love? These lands which I help enrich with calming, soothing ethers and pleasant vapors? And even ere Yavanna has awakened the birds so that they may fill the airs with their songs! I cannot leave with Thee, and be a part of this madness!"
"Dost thou holdest thyself too pure? What art thy powers? Nothing but a whimpering wind and vapors and mists that hold neither real power nor substance," the virile young God challenged.
"Though my powers may be slight, they were granted to me from the beginning to use for the betterment of Arda. Rather would I spread a cool breeze over the languishing brow and bring comfort than I would do great wonders with my gifts."
"When in the fullness of time all is in readiness, go with Me, to Him, to vow thy fealty, and He will turn those weak, whispering subtle breezes into howling furies of power and might. No longer shall the wind sing woeful, feeble songs that do naught but stir the leaves upon the trees! Let Him Who holds the destiny of all Arda in His hands give unto thee the power to drive the icy torrents of the snow, the sleet, the hail, and the howling blizzards! Thou wilt have power and thy lips wilt sing with strength and might!"
He walked towards her and placed His mighty hands upon her slender shoulders, and she trembled beneath their weight. His grasp was as of heated coals in a brazier and His eyes burned with the fires of His fury. "Wilt thou reject My gift and Me with its rejection?" He asked petulantly, His upper lip curling contemptuously. "Or wilt thou accept both My gift and Me and with them both, enmesh thy fate with My Master, Melkor the Potent?"
"I reject thy gift and with it, both thee and thy Master! Depart from me! Thou hast fallen into wickedness with thy Master!" she cried, her heart breaking.
He bent forward, and His heated lips came down, crushing her tender ones. His great chest pressed against her breasts as He reached behind her neck and unclasped the pendant. He pulled it forth in a fisted hand and crushed the necklace into melting fragments before her startled eyes, the shards oozing, steaming, molten, between His fingers. His amber eyes pulsed and glowed in His fierce wrath. With an irritated flick of the shoulder, He flung aside the long locks of hair that had cascaded down when He had bent to kiss her.
"Thou hast spurned Me, shunning Me, but thou shalt cry out in anguish when I am gone from thee. Thou shalt wring thy hands in sorrow when thou callest to Me and I shalt not answer. But, someday thou shalt heed My call, and thou shalt rejoice at the sound of it. Know this. Thou art not the first I have desired - and had, for I wilt have thee - nor wilt thou be the last," He asserted haughtily, contemptuously.
When He left her, she felt a hollow stillness inside of her being, and she was barren and cold, solitary without hope. She would sing to Him, but He would not answer. "Has He gone away to a far place and will come back to me no more?" she lamented.
The Spring of Arda was not yet marred, but the bliss of the wind maiden was, and no longer did she take delight in the newness of the creation about her. Instead, she pined for the bold and arrogant servant of Aulë, for she had become utterly besmitten by Him, her heart in awe of His daring and impetuosity. The Song of Melkor had stirred discontent where once had been peace, and she had come to resent her Lord Manwë and the other spirits of breezes and gales. Many were the spirits who were far more powerful than she, and great was the beauty of those whose tempers were akin to her own. She simmered in jealousy of them, for she felt that the loveliness of their feminine forms far surpassed her own, and she perceived herself lesser in all ways.
And so, greatly enamored of the Theme of Melkor, filled with envy for her kindred and longing for the affections of the hot-tempered Spirit of Flame, she spent her days languishing away in sorrows, waiting for her fiery-maned lover to return, for her heart had been pierced with the arrows of love.
