Oct 19, 2017 11:22 PM
A mad god's creation
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Blues in Candy Arda
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The form of a dwarf is an odd one to take, at least compared to an elf. The structure is different. It's heavier, sturdier, and the chemistry more... well, more a lot of things, and less a lot of other things, but the adjective this Maia thinks he'll use to describe it is more earthy. More practical. He can see Aulë's markings all over the form; straightforward engineering solutions and economic organization in equal measure, with dashes of occasional sheer brilliance that Eru himself might be impressed by. It's beautiful and elegant in a ruthlessly efficient sort of way, which really, he can respect. Not want to emulate, were he to lose leave of his senses and suddenly decide to attempt to build a species, but he can respect and admire it.

That being said, he thinks he prefers the elven form. Not exclusively, too long spent in a single form and something starts itching at the back of his mind, but he thinks he likes it more than the dwarves. The design has Eru all over it, all expertly crafted and beautiful functions and layers and layers of perfect intricacy pulled into utterly bizarre directions. Like a master painter picked up a brush and painted a gorgeous, glittering vista, but with the perspective drawn at just enough of a skew to grate on the nerves of the viewer, even as they admired the craftsmanship. Maddening.

So of course he prefers it to the dwarven form.

The dwarves themselves were like their biochemistry; efficient, straightforward, practical. He could respect it, certainly, but it made wandering their streets unchecked a bit tricky. Also a bit boring, once he'd figured out the trick of it. Dwarves were many admirable things, and he'd be the last (well, second to last; after Aulë himself) to name them anything but a fine species, but they were so - so themselves. He'd never wish for them to be anything but, it clearly worked beautifully for them. Even so, after a while one gets very bored of bartering mutually beneficial trade agreements, properly worded contracts, and sound investments. There's only so much a Maia can poke at for personal amusement.

He's run out of options, he thinks. As delightful as their reaction to the singing mushrooms was, he can guess what would happen to anything else he threw their way. There's only so much sensible cataloging and pricing in tonal sets of singing mushrooms that he can stand, before he starts to feel less like the playful trickster deity and more like the slightly bizarre business venture deity. He adds another set of singing mushrooms in very marketable colors and tones in a nearby side cave, as a sort of acknowledgement of their skill in besting him, and then he takes his leave.

In the form of a local species of hawk, he soars above the continent, and wonders what he'll do next.

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And is abruptly knocked out of the sky by something plummeting down on him as a much bigger hawk; before they both hit the ground he changes forms into an Elf, tall and glossy-haired and giggling like a small child. Sánedel! Sánedel, guess what, guess what -

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He cackles at the surprise, slower on the uptake to switch forms to an Elf but by no means slow. They are both Elves when they hit the ground. Luckily, they're Maiar, so this isn't particularly damaging to either of them.

This does however put Sánedel quite pinned under Sauron, not that he minds. Ah, but how can I accurately guess when I've been given no hints? The Valar have become overly preoccupied with the morality in the growth of a rather colorful plant, Eru has grown bored and torn us all from the tapestry of fate and wandered off to write terrible tragedies, Mandos fell asleep and Melkor and all the dead are free to wander about as they like -

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Laughter. Such delighted laughter. He kisses him. 

 

They let Melkor go.

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It takes him a minute to register that, because Sauron is quite adept at kissing. But then, of course, he does.


... What, really? Flat disbelief coloring the tone of his thoughts.

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Yep! Free and clear! He's streetsweeping in some shiny Elf city. ...probably Tirion, I don't see Valimar suiting him, but he did not actually say - may not know yet - he won't even speak their language yet -

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Well now it's his turn to start laughing, because no seriously why would they ever do that.

No, he wouldn't, would he. Streetsweeping. They have him streetsweeping - was that your idea or his, or are they just bereft of good janitors?

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His idea! He wanted to prove that he'd learned his place, I think he told them. The streets don't even need sweeping, they could set it up with magic.

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How completely, utterly - them. How very them. He starts giggling again, because the Valar just let Melkor out! And the only reaction he can have to this is just slightly delirious laughter.

What's next, personally apologizing to everyone? Perhaps send out tasteful cards?

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I expect so! And flowers, probably, people appreciate apology flowers. He could design a few new species. 

He pulls Sánedel's head into his lap and starts unbraiding his hair.

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Sánedel hums appreciatively, giggling slightly at the visual of Melkor very sincerely giving out flowers. He only really wears it braided when Sauron's around so he can unbraid it. More fun that way.

Excellent idea. They should be in bright, tacky colors. Neon green, fluorescent orange...

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The Elves' eyes would bleed! They'd accuse Melkor of reverting to his old terrible tortures! Excessively ornate flowers in vaguely metallic designs, that's the vogue in Tirion.

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Of course it is. Giggle. New terrible tortures, flower edition. It'd be a sight to see.

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You could go torment the Elves with tacky flowers, dear. It'd be hilarious.

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Snort. Oh, it would, certainly. I'd be painfully sincere about it, pretend to be very put out by how no one liked them. Not understand why. See how many Elves put up with tacky flowers out of pity alone. He hums again, thoughtfully this time. But no, I believe that I deal more in fungi. I figured out how to make ones that sing.

Is that smugness? That's definitely smugness.

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Ooooooooh. ...magic songs?

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No, just simple tonal notes when touched. Pretty, but mostly useless. He frowns up at Sauron, mock-hurt. Do you think I wouldn't come immediately to show you if I'd managed magic songs from fungi? You think I care so little about you?

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I have been resignedly assuming I slip your mind for a century here or there. It's all right. Happens to all of us. He kisses the top of his head.

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I am hurt by your characterization! Hurt and appalled! What ever made you think I could possibly stop thinking about you for, hm.... He smiles a sly smile. Oh, more than a decade or two at the most.

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He grows out claws; they sink into Sánedel's skin, just slightly. A single moment in all the Ages of Arda is too long. I shall have to be more memorable.

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Sánedel giggles. Oh? And how do you plan to do that?

Yes, he would like to stop thinking about how Melkor is free, this is definitely the fastest way to not at all think about that.

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Having shared his news he is content to be distracting indeed. 

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Excellent, Sauron can be quite assured that Sánedel will not be forgetting him anytime soon. Or ever. He will not forget about him ever. He's much too busy failing to have coherent non-Sauron related thoughts to possibly forget anything.

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That is the most satisfying part! That and claws, claws are extraordinarily satisfying.

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Yes, yes they are.

 


Do you plan to go to Valinor, then? he wonders, after they have quite proven the many ways in which a Maia can be reduced to adoring and slightly whimpery puddle form.

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Oh, definitely. Come with me?

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