𝗟𝘂́𝗺𝗲̈,𝗜𝗻𝗱𝘂𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗻 𝗮𝗿 𝗔𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗼 | LOTR & Marvel Crossover [PART3]✓

Prologue | Little Crows and Little Ladies

Prologue | Little Crows and Little Ladies

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Maeglin Lómion | Prince of the Noldor The Traitor

Location: Harlond, Harlindon, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: March 2981 T.A

Shaking his head, he whispered, "I don't...I won't..."

A force shoved his chin up, forcing him to stare at the scarred face which made him shrink.

Morgoth spoke smoothly, "I think you can, little crow."

"I'm...I am not a crow!" He hissed back.

Instead, the dark Vala grinned before letting out a chuckle. Even a small laugh had sent shivers down his spine. The feeling of his body aching, burning, and freezing all at once. Morgoth sighed as he continued, "You have always been one." He leaned forward, tracing a large skeletal finger across his face. "A petty bird...squawking and chirping."

He scrunched his eyes as the Vala mimicked, drowning the noises to nothing but birds surrounding him. Pecking and squawking until it began to feel as if his ears were bleeding. He squirmed in his chains, forced to kneel as he could feel the sweat trickle down his face.

"S-Stop!" He stammered out, spitting out the last syllable.

In a moment of silence, he heard Morgoth laugh. "You hate what you are but you love it all the same." He sighed, continuing to taunt him. "The blood of Finwë...and the blood of the fire. We're just the same."

Snarling, he widened his eyes as he replied: "I am nothing like you!"

Then he felt the cold seep in once more. Like a pale of cold icy water drenching him as he breathed in at the sight of the Vala.

How even staring in the eyes of his true form made him cower and almost shrivel at that spot.

Even if Maeglin would never admit it, he was terrified.

"No. You're weak. Pathetic. You think you possess such power to sway me." Morgoth sneered, malice in his tone as he asked, "With what? Your words? Your little silver tongue which you gained from your father? Your ingolë does not affect me, little crow."

The mention of his father made him ground his teeth. Maeglin hated every inch of what his other half was. But he would never associate with the Noldor. Weak and pathetic, arrogant, and all-knowing. They thought they were clever, and yet look how much they have done. Little. So little.

They were all dead. Only a few of the House of Finwë lived.

"But you can be something." The dark Vala rasped, a gleam in his dark mystifying eyes as he proclaimed, "You can gain that power. Gain her."

A memory passed over his mind, imagining her silver eyes – filled with love and admiration.

Love and admiration for him.

"I know you are thinking about her," Morgoth spoke, making Maeglin blink back to look up to him. "Your cousin. Ondolindë. A throne...all the things neither your mother nor father could possess."

Next, a vision was forced into him. He saw Gondolin invaded by Morgoth. Him seeing Tuor die at the hands of the Balrogs and Iron Dragons. Turgon proclaiming him as the hero and is forced to give up his crown. Idril, torn and mourning, is saved and accepts his hand in marriage.