In LOTR with Harry Potter system-Chapter 449: Morgoth’s Deal

Among the Valar, Tulkas was not the wisest, nor the most strategic. He was the embodiment of strength, endurance, and unyielding battle instinct.

At the height of his might, he alone could stand toe-to-toe with Morgoth. Yet unlike Manwë's foresight or Aulë's craft, Tulkas possessed little patience for planning or subtlety. He fought as he was made to fight, directly, honestly, without calculation.

When he finally closed with Morgoth in the War of Wrath, he cast aside all notions of strategy. There was no deception, no feint, no cunning. Only raw force.

Morgoth, though immeasurably powerful, never ceased calculating. Even in combat, his mind sought advantage. He weighed outcomes. He considered contingencies.

Yet it was precisely this difference that doomed him.

Tulkas fought as a storm fights, without hesitation.Morgoth fought as a tyrant thinks, always calculating.

And in that final clash, calculation cost him a heartbeat.

Sylas watched as Morgoth fell.

Bound in Angainor, the chain forged by Aulë, the Dark Lord's legs were broken, his iron crown beaten down upon his head so that it hung like a collar about his neck. His once mountain-like presence was diminished, yet even in defeat he radiated malice.

Compared to Morgoth, Sauron seemed but a shadow of a shadow.

Sylas felt a strange solemnity witnessing the fall of such a being.

But perhaps he had lingered too long.

For as Sylas gazed upon the bound Vala from within the River of Time, Morgoth's head slowly lifted.

His dark eyes burned.

Across the vast currents of time, their gazes met.

A terrible awareness passed between them.

No words were spoken, yet thought crossed the ages.

"Hiding within time… Who watches me?"

The voice was not sound, but will.

"How delightful. There exists yet one who walks the currents."

Morgoth's presence pressed outward through the river.

"You are not of my age. You are not one of the Valar I know."

A pause.

"From the future, then. A spirit cloaked in borrowed authority."

Sylas felt the weight of that perception. He had believed himself hidden within the timeless flow, yet Morgoth, even bound and diminished, sensed him. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"You wield time," Morgoth continued, his thought edged with fascination. "A power of great potential. But your essence… is incomplete. You resonate, but you do not command."

The river trembled faintly.

"You could become more."

"I sought once the Flame Imperishable."

At this, Sylas stilled.

The Flame Imperishable, the Secret Fire, was no mere power. It was the creative will of Eru Ilúvatar Himself, the source of life and independent being. It was not an element to be seized, nor a tool to be forged.

Morgoth had searched for it in the Void beyond the world, desiring to create life of his own. But he had failed. For the Flame Imperishable was not a substance, it was the will of the Creator.

"You seek dominion over time," Morgoth's thought pressed on. "But time without will is incomplete. I can show you how to shape power. How to transcend mere resonance."

A subtle pull accompanied the words, not crude domination, but temptation. Ambition wrapped in reason.

For a fleeting instant, Sylas felt the lure.

Greater authority. True dominion. To stand among the Valar as an equal.

But in that same instant, he saw the truth.

Morgoth did not create, he corrupted.

The Orcs were not fashioned from nothing, they were twisted from captured Elves. Dragons were not born from divine spark.

The dragons were bred from creatures already in Arda, twisted and infused with his own dark power until they became fire-drakes of terror.

Only Eru Ilúvatar possessed the Flame Imperishable.

Only He could create life with true being.

Within the River of Time, Morgoth's thought pressed forward urgently.

"I know where the Flame Imperishable may be found. If you possess it, you would not merely touch time, you could rival the will of Ilúvatar Himself."

Sylas did not answer immediately. His expression made his doubt clear.

If Morgoth had truly known where the Flame was, he would never have been bound in Angainor.

Seeing disbelief in Sylas's silence, Morgoth continued.

"In ages past I searched the Void for the Flame and found nothing. Yet my search was not entirely without discovery. Consider the fate of Men."

"After death, the spirits of Men pass briefly through the Halls of Mandos. Even Námo himself does not know where they go thereafter. The Valar cannot follow them."

His thought grew edged with bitterness.

"But I have learned this: they pass beyond the Circles of the World. Beyond Arda. Beyond even the sight of the Valar."

"To where?"

"To where the Flame resides."

Jealousy burned beneath the words.

"The Flame Imperishable is withheld from us, the Ainur who were born of Ilúvatar's thought. Yet to the fragile race of Men, He grants a path beyond the world, toward His hidden design."

Sylas felt a flicker of surprise.

In the lore of the Eldar, the fate of Men was called the Gift of Ilúvatar. Their spirits left Arda entirely. Even Mandos did not know their ultimate end.

But to equate that realm with the dwelling of the Flame Imperishable…

That was a leap.

Morgoth pressed on.

"In my former stronghold there was a threshold known among my servants as the Gate of Sorrow. It is a rift aligned with the passage of mortal souls. Only the spirits of Men pass through it fully, but I have studied its nature."

"If you and I join our knowledge, your mastery of time and my understanding of the void beyond, we may pierce the veil."

"Together, we could reach the source."

"For you, it would mean dominion not merely over time, but over being itself."

This time, Morgoth did not lace his thought with coercion. The temptation stood on its own.

Sylas looked through the currents of time at the bound Vala.

He saw the iron collar pressed into his neck. The wounded pride. The smoldering hatred.

Morgoth could not create.

He could only seek to seize.

And if he truly believed the Flame lay beyond the world, then what he sought was not understanding, but intrusion.

Sylas spoke at last, his voice steady across the ages.

"You claim the fate of Men leads to the Flame."

"You claim you can reach it."

"If so, why did you never pass that Gate yourself?"

Morgoth's eyes darkened.

"For I am not permitted to leave the world."

The admission carried fury beneath it.

Sylas understood immediately. The fate of Men was not access to power. It was release from the world.

It was the will of Ilúvatar unfolding beyond the sight of even the Valar.

To follow that path by force would not lead to creation. It would lead to ruin.

Still, Sylas asked calmly,

"How would you propose we cooperate?"